ONE  MAN'S  VIEW 


BY  LEONARD   MLRRICK 

THIS  STAGE  OF  FOOLS 

ONE  MAN'S  VIEW 

THE  POSITION  OF  PEGGY 

CONRAD  IN  QUEST  OF  HIS  YOUTH 

THE  MAN  WHO  UNDERSTOOD  WOMEN 

WHISPERS   ABOUT  WOMEN 

THE  ACTOR-MANAGER 

THE  MAN  WHO  WAS   GOOD 

CYNTHIA 

At  all  booksellers 


ONE  MAN'S  VIEW 


BY 

LEONARD  MERRICK 


MITCHELL  KENNERLEY 

NEW   YORK  AND   LONDON 

MCMXIII 


Copyright  189?  by 
Mitchell  Kennerley 


SRLF 
URL 


One  Man's  View 

CHAPTER   I 

The  idea  was  so  foreign  to  his  tem- 
perament that  Heriot  was  reluctant  to 
believe  that  he  had  entertained  it  even 
during  a  few  seconds.  He  continued 
his  way  past  the  big  pink  house  and 
the  girl  on  the  balcony,  surprised  at  the 
interest  roused  in  him  by  this  fortuitous 
discovery  of  her  address.  Of  what 
moment  was  it  where  she  was  staying? 
He  had  noticed  her  among  the  crowd 
about  the  band-stand  one  morning,  and 
admired  her.  In  other  words,  he  had 
unconsciously  attributed  to  the  pos- 
sessor of  a  delicious  complexion  and  a 
pair  of  grey  eyes,  darkly  fringed,  vague 
characteristics  to  which  she  was  prob* 


One  Man's  View 

ably  a  stranger.  He  had  seen  her  the 
next  day  also,  and  the  next — even 
hoped  to  see  her;  speculated  quite  idly 
what  her  social  position  might  be,  and 
how  she  came  beside  the  impossible 
woman  who  accompanied  her.  All 
that  was  nothing;  his  purpose  in  com- 
ing to  Eastbourne  was  to  be  trivial. 
But  why  the  sense  of  gratification  with 
which  he  had  learnt  where  she  lived? 

As  to  the  idea  which  had  crossed 
his  brain,  that  was  preposterous!  Of 
course,  since  the  pink  house  was  a 
boarding  establishment,  he  might,  if  he 
would,  make  her  acquaintance  by  the 
simple  expedient  of  removing  there, 
but  he  did  not  know  how  he  could  have 
meditated  such  a  step.  It  was  the  sort 
of  semi-disreputable  folly  which  a  man 
a  decade  or  so  younger  might  commit 
and  describe  as  a  "  lark."  No  doubt 
many  men  a  decade  or  so  younger 
would  commit  it  He  could  conceive 
that  a  freshly  painted  balcony,  display- 


One  Man's  View 

ing  a  pretty  girl  for  an  hour  or  two 
every  afternoon,  might  serve  to  extend 
the  clientele  of  a  boarding-house  enor- 
mously, and  wondered  that  more  atten- 
tion had  not  been  paid  to  such  a  form 
of  advertisement.  For  himself,  how- 
ever — his  hair  was  already  thinning  at 
the  temples;  solicitors  were  deferential 
to  him,  and  his  clerk  was  taking  a  villa 
in  Brixton  —  for  himself,  it  would  not 
do! 

Eastbourne  was  dreary,  he  reflected, 
as  he  strolled  towards  the  inevitable 
Wish  Tower.  He  was  almost  sorry 
that  he  had  not  gone  to  Fairlawn  and 
quartered  himself  on  his  brother  for  a 
week  or  two  instead.  Francis  was 
always  pleased  to  meet  him  of  recent 
years,  and  no  longer  remarked  early  in 
the  conversation  that  he  was  "  over- 
drawn at  Cox's."  On  the  whole,  Fran- 
cis was  not  a  bad  fellow,  and  Fairlawn 
and  pheasants  would  have  been  livelier. 

He  stifled  a  yawn,  and  observed  with 
3 


One  Man's  View 

relief  that  it  was  near  the  dinner-hour. 
In  the  evening  he  turned  over  the 
papers  in  the  smoking-room.  He  per- 
ceived, as  he  often  did  perceive  in  the 
vacations,  that  he  was  lonely.  Vaca- 
tions were  a  mistake;  early  in  one's 
career  one  could  not  afford  them,  and 
by  the  time  one  was  able  to  do  so,  the 
taste  for  holidays  was  gone.  This 
hotel  was  depressing  too.  The  visitors 
were  dull,  and  the  cooking  was  indiffer- 
ent. What  could  be  more  tedious  than 
the  meal  from  which  he  had  just  risen? 
—  the  feeble  soup,  the  flaccid  fish,  the 
uninterrupted  view  of  the  stout  lady 
with  the  aquiline  nose,  and  a  red  shawl 
across  her  shoulders.  Now  he  was 
lolling  on  a  morocco  couch,  fingering 
the  Field;  two  or  three  other  men  lay 
about,  napping,  or  looking  at  the 
Graphic.  There  was  a  great  deal  of 
tobacco-smoke,  and  a  little  whisky;  he 
might  as  well  have  stopped  in  town, 
and  gone  to  the  club.  He  wondered 
4 


One  Man's  View 

what  they  did  in  Belle  Vue  Mansion 
after  dinner.  Perhaps  there  was  music, 
and  the  girl  sang?  he  could  fancy  that 
she  sang  well.  Or  they  might  have 
impromptu  dances.  He  did  not  care 
for  dancing  personally,  but  even  to  see 
other  people  enjoying  themselves  would 
be  comparatively  gay.  After  all,  why 
should  he  not  remove  to  Belle  Vue 
Mansion  if  he  wished?  He  had  at- 
tached a  significance  to  the  step  that 
it  did  not  possess,  making  it  appear 
absurd  by  the  very  absurdity  of  the 
consideration  he  accorded  it.  He  re- 
membered the  time  when  he  would  not 
have  hesitated — those  were  the  days 
when  Francis  was  always  "overdrawn 
at  Cox's."  Well,  he  had  worked  hard 
since  then,  and  anything  that  Francis 
might  have  lent  him  had  been  repaid, 
and  he  had  gradually  acquired  soberer 
views  of  life.  Perhaps  he  might  be 
said  to  have  gone  to  an  extreme,  in- 
deed, and  taken  the  pledge!  He  some- 
5 


One  Man's  View 

times  felt  old,  and  he  was  still  in  the 
thirties.  Francis  was  the  younger  of 
the  two  of  late,  although  he  had  a  boy 
in  the  Brigade;  but  elder  sons  often 
kept  young  very  long — it  was  easy  for 
them,  like  the  way  of  righteousness  to 
a  bishop.  ...  A  waiter  cast  an  in- 
quiring glance  round  the  room,  and 
crossing  to  the  sofa,  handed  him  a  card. 
Heriot  read  the  name  with  astonish- 
ment; he  had  not  seen  the  man  for  six- 
teen years,  and  even  their  irregular  cor- 
respondence had  died  a  natural  death. 

"  My  dear  fellow!  "  he  exclaimed  in 
the  hall.  "  Come  inside." 

In  the  past,  of  which  he  had  jusl 
been  thinking,  he  and  Dick  Cheriton 
had  been  staunch  friends,  none  the  less 
staunch  because  Cheriton  was  some 
years  his  senior.  Dick  had  a  studio  in 
Rowland  Street  then,  and  was  going  to 
set  the  Academy  on  fire.  In  the  mean- 
while he  wore  a  yellow  necktie,  and 
married  madly,  and  smoked  a  clay 
6 


One  Man's  View 

pipe;  he  could  not  guarantee  that  he 
would  be  an  R.A.,  but  at  least  he  was 
resolved  that  he  would  be  a  Bohemian. 
He  had  all  the  qualifications  for  artistic 
success,  excepting  the  talent.  When 
he  discovered  the  fact  beyond  the  pos- 
sibility of  mistake,  he  accepted  a  rela- 
tive's offer  of  a  commercial  berth  in 
the  United  States,  and  had  his  hair  cut. 
The  valedictory  supper  in  the  studio, 
at  which  he  had  renounced  ambition, 
and  solemnly  burned  all  the  canvases 
that  the  dealers  would  not  buy,  had 
been  a  very  affecting  spectacle. 

"My  dear  fellow!"  cried  Heriot. 
"  Come  inside.  This  is  a  tremendous 
pleasure!  When  did  you  arrive?  " 

"Came  over  in  the  Germanic,  ten 
days  ago.  It  is  you,  then!  I  saw 
'  George  Heriot '  in  the  visitors'  list, 
and  strolled  round  on  the  chance.  I 
scarcely  hoped —  How  are  you,  old 
man?  I  'm  mighty  glad  to  see  you  — 
fact!  " 

7 


One  Man's  View 

"  You  've  been  here  ten  days?  " 

"  Not  here,  no;  I  've  only  been  in 
Eastbourne  a  few  hours." 

"  You  should  have  looked  me  up  in 
town." 

"  I  tried.    Your  chambers  were  shut." 

"  Of  course;  but  the  porter  at  the 
club- — " 

"  What  club  ?  You  forget  what  an 
exile  I  am!" 

"  Have  a  drink?  Well,  upon  my 
word,  this  is  very  jolly!  Sit  down;  try 
one  of  these!  " 

"  Would  you  have  recognized  me?  " 
asked  Cheriton,  stretching  his  legs, 
and  lighting  up. 

"  You  have  changed,"  admitted 
Heriot;  "  it 's  a  long  time.  I  've 
changed  too." 

They  regarded  each  other  with  a 
gaze  of  friendly  criticism.  Heriot 
noted  with  some  surprise  that  the 
other's  appearance  savoured  little  of 
the  American  man  of  business,  or  of 
8 


One  Man's  View 

the  man  of  business  outside  America. 
His  hair,  though  less  disordered  than 
it  had  been  in  the  Rowland  Street 
period,  was  still  rather  longer  than  is 
customary  in  the  city.  It  was  now 
grey,  and  became  him  admirably.  He 
wore  a  brown  velvet  jacket,  and  showed 
a  glimpse  of  a  loosely  tied  knot  of  silk. 
He  no  longer  looked  a  Bohemian,  but 
he  had  acquired  the  air  of  a  celebrity. 

"  Have  you  come  home  for  good, 
Cheriton?  " 

Cheriton  shook  his  head. 

"  I  guess  America  has  got  me  for 
good,"  he  answered;  "  I  'm  only  making 
atrip.  And  you?  You're  still  at  the 
Bar,  eh?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Heriot  dryly;  "  I  'm 
still  at  the  Bar."  (It  is  not  agreeable, 
when  you  have  succeeded  in  a  profes- 
sion, to  be  asked  if  you  belong  to  it 
still.)  "I've  travelled  on  the  lines 
on  which  you  left  me  —  it  doesn't 
make  an  exciting  narrative.  Chambers, 
9 


One  Man's  View 

court,  and  bed  !  A  laundress  or  two 
has  died  in  the  interval.  The  thing 
pays  better  than  it  used  to  do,  natu- 
rally; that 's  all." 

"You're  doing  well?" 

"  I  should  have  called  it  '  doing 
well '  once;  but  we  are  all  Olivers  in 
our  hearts.  To-day — " 

"Mistake!"  said  the  elder  man. 
"  You  wanted  the  Bar  —  you  've  got  the 

Bar;  you  ought  to  be  satisfied.  Now 
j " 

"Yes?"  said  Heriot,  as  he  paused. 

"  How 's  the  world  used  you,  Cheriton? 

By  the  way,  you  never  answered  my 

last  letter,  I  think." 

"  It  was  you  who  did  n't  answer  me." 
"  I  fancy  not.     You  were  going  to 

Chicago,  and  I  wrote — " 

"  I  wrote  after  I  arrived  in  Chicago." 
"Well,  it   must  be   five  years   ago; 

we  won't  argue.     What  did  you  do  in 

Chicago,  Cheriton?  " 

"  No  good,  sir.     I  went  there  with  a 


One  Man's  View 

patent  horse-collar.  Capital  invention 
—  not  my  own,  I  never  invented  any- 
thing!—  but  it  did  n't  catch  on.  They 
seemed  to  take  no  interest  in  horse- 
collars;  no  money  in  it,  not  a  cent! 
After  the  horse-collar  I  started  in  the 
dry-goods  trade;  but  I  was  burned  out. 
From  Chicago  I  went  to  Duluth;  I've 
an  hotel  there  to-day." 

"An  hotel?" 

"  That 's  so.  It  is  n't  a  distinguished 
career,  running  a  little  hotel,  but  it's 
fairly  easy.  Compared  with  hustling 
with  horse-collars,  it's  luxurious.  Du- 
luth is  a  hole;  but  what  would  you 
have!  I  make  my  way,  and  that's  all 
I  ask  now.  If  I  had  my  life  over 
again  —  "  He  sighed.  "  If  we  could 
have  our  lives  over  again,  eh,  Her- 
iot?  " 

"  Humph!  "  said  Heriot  doubtfully; 
he  was  wondering  if  he  could  make  any 
better  use  of  his  own  —  if  he  would  be 
any  livelier  the  next  time  he  was  eight- 


One  Man's  View 

and-thirty.  "  I  suppose  we  all  blunder, 
of  course." 

"  You  are  a  young  man  yet,  it 's  dif- 
ferent for  you;  and  you  're  in  the  pro- 
fession of  your  choice:  it's  entirely 
different.  We  do  n't  look  at  the  thing 
from  the  same  standpoint,  Heriot." 

"  You  don't  mean  that  you  regret 
giving  up  Art?  " 

"  Sir,"  said  Cheriton  mournfully,  "  it 
was  the  error  I  shall  always  regret!  I 
would  n't  say  as  much  to  anybody  else; 
I  keep  it  here  "  —  he  tapped  his  velvet 
jacket  —  "but  I  had  a  gift,  and  I 
neglected  it;  I  had  power,  and  —  and  I 
run  an  hotel!  When  I  reflect,  man, 
there  are  hours  —  well,  it 's  no  use  cry- 
ing over  spilt  milk;  but  to  think  of  the 
position  I  should  have  made,  and  to 
contrast  it  with  what  I  am,  is  bitter." 
He  swept  back  his  wavy  hair  im- 
patiently, and  in  the  momentary  pose 
looked  more  like  a  celebrity  still. 
Heriot  could  see  that  the  cherished 

12 


One  Man's  View 

delusion  gave  him  a  melancholy  pleas- 
ure, and  was  at  a  loss  how  to  reply. 

"  It  was  up-hill  work,"  he  said  at 
last.  "Who  can  tell!  Luck  —  " 

"I  was  a  lad,  an  impetuous  lad;  and 
I  was  handicapped —  I  married!  "  (The 
man  with  a  failure  to  explain  is  always 
grateful  to  have  married.)  "  But  I  had 
the  stuff  in  me;  I  had  the  temperament. 
'  Had  '  it?  I  have  it  now!  I  may  keep 
an  hotel,  but  I  shall  never  be  an  hotel- 
keeper.  God  gave  me  my  soul,  sir; 
circumstances  gave  me  an  hotel.  I 
may  n't  paint  any  more,  but  an  artist  by 
nature  I  shall  always  be!  I  do  n't  say 
it  in  any  bragging  spirit,  Heriot;  I 
should  be  happier  if  I  did  n't  feel  it. 
The  commonplace  man  may  be  con- 
tented in  the  commonplace  calling;  he 
fills  the  role  he  was  meant  for.  It 's 
the  poor  devil  like  myself,  who  knows 
what  he  might  have  been,  who  suffers!  " 

Heriot  did  not  pursue  the  subject; 
he  puffed  his  cigar  meditatively.  After 
13 


One  Man's  View 

the  effervescence  subsides,  such  meet- 
ings must  always  have  a  little  sadness; 
he  looked  at  the  wrinkles  that  had 
gathered  in  his  friend's  face,  and  real- 
ized the  crow's-feet  on  his  own. 

"  You  lost  your  wife,  you  wrote  me?  " 
he  remarked,  breaking  a  rather  lengthy 
silence. 

"In  New  York,  yes — pneumonia. 
You  never  married,  eh?" 

"  No.    Do  you  stay  over  here  long?  " 

"A  month  or  two;  I  can't  manage 
more!  But  I  shall  leave  my  girl  in 
London.  I  Ve  brought  her  with  me, 
and  she  '11  remain." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Heriot,  "  you 
have  a  child  —  of  course  you  have!  I 
remember  a  little  thing  tumbling  about 
in  Rowland  Street.  She  must  be  a 
woman,  Cheriton?  " 

"  Mamie  is  twenty-one.     I  want  to 

see  if  I  can  do  anything  for  her  before 

I  go  back.     She  loathes  Duluth;  and 

she  has  talent.     She  '11   live  with   my 

'4 


One  Man's  View 

sister.  1  do  n't  think  you  ever  saw  my 
sister,  did  you?  She  is  a  widow,  and 
stagnates  in  Wandsworth  —  Mamie  will 
be  company  for  her." 

"  Your  daughter  paints?  " 

"  No,  not  paints;  she  wants  to  be  an 
actress.  I  was  n't  very  keen  on  it;  but 
she  's  got  the  material  in  her,  and  I 
concluded  I'd  no  right  to  say  'no.' 
Still,  she's  not  very  strong — takes 
after  her  mother,  I  'm  afraid,  a  little; 
I  'd  rather  she  'd  had  a  gift  for  some- 
thing else." 

"  Was  it  necessary  for  her  to  have  a 
gift  at  all?  "  asked  Heriot,  a  shade  sar- 
castically. "  Could  n't  she  stop  at 
home?" 

"Well,"  said  Cheriton,  "she  tried 
it,  but  it 's  a  hard  thing  for  a  girl  like 
Mamie  to  content  herself  with  the  life 
in  Duluth.  There  is  n't  much  art  in 
that,  Heriot ;  there  is  n't  much  any- 
thing. There  's  the  lake,  and  Superior 
Street,  and  the  storekeepers  lounging 
15 


One  Man's  View 

in  the  doorways  and  spitting  on  the 
sidewalks.  And  there's  a  theatre,  of 
a  sort — which  made  her  worse.  For 
a  girl  panting  to  be  famous,  Duluth 
is  hell.  She 's  been  breaking  her 
heart  in  it  ever  since  she  was  sixteen  ; 
and  after  all,  it  is  in  the  blood.  It 
would  have  been  odd  if  my  daughter 
hadn't  had  the  artistic  temperament, 
I  suppose!  " 

"I  suppose  it  would,"  said  Heriot. 
"  Well,  why  does  n't  she  go  on  the 
stage  in  America?  I  shouldn't  think 
she  'd  find  it  easy  here." 

"  She  would  n't  find  it  easy  there. 
There  's  no  stock  company  in  Duluth  ; 
only  the  travelling  companies  come 
sometimes  for  a  few  nights.  There  is 
no  bigger  opportunity  for  her  on  the 
other  side  than  on  this.  Besides,  she 
wants  the  English  stage.  I  wonder  if 
you  know  anybody  who  could  give  her 
any  introductions?" 

"I?"  said  Heriot;  "not  a  soul!" 

16 


One  Man's  View 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  you  say  that," 
replied  Cheriton  blankly ;  "  you  were 
one  of  the  channels  I  was  counting  on." 

Heriot  looked  at  him. 

"You  counted  on  me!"  he  said; 
"  for  Heaven's  sake,  why?  " 

"Well,  I  don't  know  many  people 
over  here  to-day,  you  see;  the  fellows 
I  used  to  knock  against  have  died,  gone 
to  the  Colonies  —  disappeared  some- 
how. You  were  solid;  and  you  were  a 
swell,  with  connections  and  all  that ! 
I  understand  the  stage  has  become  very 
fashionable  in  London —  I  thought  you 
might  meet  actor-managers  at  dinners 
and  fe"tes,  and  blessed  things.  That 
was  the  idea ;  I  daresay  it  was  very 
stupid,  but  I  had  it.  I  mentioned  your 
name  to  Mamie  as  soon  as  it  was 
settled  we  should  come.  However, 
we  '11  fix  the  matter  somehow." 

"  I  'm  sorry  to  prove  a  disappoint- 
ment," said  Heriot.  "  Tell  your  daugh- 
ter so  for  me.  I  'd  do  what  you  want 
17 


One  Man's  View 

with  pleasure,  if  I  were  able.  You 
know  that,  I  'm  sure?" 

"  Oh,  I  know  that,"  said  Cheriton; 
11  it 's  all  right.  Yes,  I  '11  tell  her.  She 
will  be  disappointed,  of  course;  she 
understands  how  difficult  the  thing  is 
without  influence,  and  I  've  talked 
about  you  a  lot." 

"  Do  you  think  you  were  wise  to  — 
to  —  "  * 

"  Oh,  it  was  a  mistake  as  it  turns 
out." 

"  I  do  n't  mean  that  only.  I  mean, 
do  you  think  you  were  wise  to  encour- 
age her  hopes  in  such  a  direction  at 
all?  Frankly,  if  /  had  a  daughter  — 
Forgive  me  for  speaking  plainly." 

"  My  dear  fellow  !  your  daughter 
and  mine  !  —  their  paths  would  be  as 
wide  apart  as  the  Poles.  And  you 
don't  know  Mamie  !  " 

"  Does  that  affect  the  fact  that  the 
stage  is  more  overcrowded  every  year? 
Most  girls  are  stage-struck  at  some 
18 


One  Man's  View 

time  or  other;  and  there  are  hundreds 
of  actresses  who  can't  earn  bread  and 
cheese.  A  man  I  know  has  his  type- 
writing done  by  a  woman  who  used  to 
be  on  the  stage.  She  played  the  best 
parts  in  the  country,  I  believe,  and,  I 
daresay,  nursed  the  expectation  of  be- 
coming a  Bernhardt.  She  gets  a  pound 
a  week  in  his  office,  he  tells  me,  and 
was  thankful  to  obtain  the  post !  " 

"  Mamie  is  bound  to  come  to  the 
front.  She's  got  it — she's  an  artist 
born  !  I 'tell  you,  I  should  be  brutal  to 
stand  in  the  way  of  her  career;  the 
girl  is  pining,  really  pining,  for  dis- 
tinction. When  you  Ve  talked  to  her 
you  '11  change  your  views." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Heriot,  as  the 
shortest  way  of  ending  the  discussion, 
"  very  likely  I  'm  wrong  !  "  The  would- 
be  Juliet  bored  him.  "  Mind  you  ex- 
plain to  the  young  lady  that  my  in- 
ability, and  not  my  will,  refuses,  at  any 
rate." 

19 


One  Man's  View 

"  That 's  all  right,"  repeated  Cheri- 
ton,  getting  up.  "  I  told  her  I  was 
coming  round  to  see  if  it  was  you." 
He  laughed.  "  She  's  picturing  me 
coming  back  with  a  bushel  of  letters  of 
introduction  from  you  by  now,  I  '11 
bet !  Well,  I  must  be  going;  it  's 
getting  late," 

"You  brought  her  down  to  East- 
bourne to-day?" 

"  Oh,  I  've  been  dangling  about 
town  a  little  by  myself;  Mamie  and 
my  sister  have  been  here  a  week. 
Good-night,  old  chap;  shall  I  see  you 
to-morrow?  You  might  give  us  a  look 
in  if  you  will  —  say  in  the  afternoon. 
Belle  Vue  Mansion;  do  n't  forget !  " 

"  Where?  "  exclaimed  Heriot,  startled 
into  interest. 

"  Belle  Vue  Mansion,"  repeated  Cher- 
iton,  gripping  his  hand.  "  You  can't 
miss  it:  a  big  pink  house  on  the  Es- 
planade." 


20 


CHAPTER  II 

Heriot  betook  himself  there  on  the 
following  day  with  a  curious  eagerness. 
If  the  girl  he  had  noticed  should  prove 
to  be  Cheriton's  daughter,  how  odd  it 
would  be!  He  at  once  hoped  for  the 
coincidence,  and  found  the  possibility 
a  shade  pathetic.  It  emphasized  his 
years  to  think  that  the  ill-kept  child  of 
the  dirty  studio  might  have  become 
the  girl  he  had  admired.  His  progress 
during  the  interval  appeared  momenta- 
rily insignificant  to  him  ;  he  felt  that 
while  a  brat  became  a  woman  he  ought 
to  have  done  much  more.  He  was  dis- 
couraged to  reflect  that  he  had  not 
taken  silk;  for  he  had  always  intended 
to  take  silk,  and  had  small  misgivings 
that  he  would  have  cause  to  repent  it. 
21 


One  Man's  View 

His  practice  had  indicated  for  some 
time  that  he  would  not  suffer  by  the 
step,  and  yet  he  had  delayed  his  appli- 
cation. His  motto  had  been  "Slow 
and  Sure,"  but  it  seemed  to  him  sud- 
denly that  he  had  been  too  slow ;  his 
income  as  a  Junior  should  not  have 
contented  him  so  long. 

He  pulled  the  bell,  and  was  preceded 
up  the  stairs  by  a  maid-servant,  who 
opened  a  door,  and  announced  him  to 
the  one  occupant  of  the  room.  Heriot 
saw  that  she  was  the  girl  of  the  bal- 
cony and  the  Parade,  and  that  she 
moved  towards  him  smiling.  In  the 
instant  of  his  anticipation  being  con- 
firmed, the  coincidence  looked  stranger 
to  him  still. 

"  I  am  Mamie  Cheriton,"  she  said. 
"  My  father  is  expecting  you." 

Her  intonation  was  faintly  American, 
but  her  voice  was  full  and  sweet.  He 
took  her  hand  with  singular  pleasure, 
and  a  touch  of  excitement  that  did  not 


One  Man's  View 

concord  with  his  countenance,  which 
was  formal  and  impassive. 

"  I  am  glad  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance, Miss  Cheriton." 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  she  said. 
"  He  will  be  here  in  a  minute." 

Heriot  took  a  seat,  and  decided  that 
her  eyes  were  even  lovelier  than  he  had 
known. 

"  When  I  saw  you  last  you  were  a 
child,"  he  remarked  inaccurately. 

"Yes;  it  must  have  astonished  you 
meeting  my  father  again  after  so  many 
years.  It  was  funny,  your  being  here, 
was  n't  it?  .  .  .  But  perhaps  you  often 
come  to  Eastbourne?" 

"No,"    said    Heriot;   "no,    I    don't 

often  come.     How  does  it  strike  you, 

•  Miss   Cheriton?      I   suppose   you    can 

hardly  remember  England,  can  you?" 

"Well,  I  shan't  be  sorry  to  be  settled 
in  London.  It  was  London  I  was  anx- 
ious to  go  to,  not  a  seaside  resort.  .  .  . 
Do  you  say  '  seaside  resort'  in  Europe? 
23 


One  Man's  View 

or  is  it  wrong?  When  I  said  '  seaside 
resort '  this  morning,  I  noticed  that  a 
woman  stared  at  me." 

"One  generally  says  a  'watering- 
place'  over  here,"  he  admitted;  I 
do  n't  know  that  it's  important." 

"  Well,  a  '  watering-place  '  then.  A 
watering-place  was  my  aunt's  wish. 
Well  —  Well,  I  'm  saying  '  well '  too 
often,  I  guess?  —  that's  American  too! 
I  've  got  to  be  quite  English — that's 
my  first  step.  But  at  least  I  do  n't 
talk  through  my  nose,  Mr.  Heriot, 
do  I?" 

"You  talk  very  delightfully,  I 
think,"  he  said,  taken  aback. 

"  I  hope  you  mean  it!  My  voice  is 
most  important,  you  know.  It  would 
be  very  cruel  that  I  should  be  handi- 
capped in  my  own  country  by  having  a 
foreigner's  voice.  I  shall  have  difficul- 
ties enough  without!  " 

"I'm  afraid,"  he  said,  "that  I'm 
unfortunate.  I  wish  I  could  have  done 
24 


One  Man's  View 

something  to  further  the  ambitions  your 
father  mentioned." 

She  smiled  again,  rather  wistfully 
this  time. 

"  They  seem  very  absurd  to  you,  I 
daresay?" 

He  murmured  depreciation:  "Why?" 

"  The  stage-struck  girl  is  always 
absurd." 

Recognizing  his  own  phrase,  he  per- 
ceived that  he  had  been  too  faithfully 
reported,  and  was  embarrassed. 

"  I  fear  I  spoke  hastily.  In  the  ab- 
stract the  stage-struck  girl  may  be 
absurd,  but  so  is  a  premature  opinion." 

"  Thank  you!  "  she  said.  "  But  why 
'stage-struck,'  anyhow?  It's  a  term  I 
hate.  I  suppose  you  wanted  to  be  a 
barrister,  Mr.  Heriot?  " 

"I  did,"  he  confessed,  "certainly. 
There  are  a  great  many,  but  I  thought 
there  was  room  for  one  more." 

"  But  you  were  n't  described  as  '  bar- 
struck  '  ?  " 

25 


One  Man's  View 

"  I  do  n't  think  I  ever  heard  the  ex- 
pression." 

"  It  would  be  a  very  foolish  one?  " 

"  It  would  sound  so  to  me." 

"Why  'stage-struck'  then?  Is  it 
any  more  ridiculous  to  aspire  to  one 
profession  than  another?  You  don't 
say  a  person  is  '  paint-struck,'  or  '  ink- 
struck,'  or  anything  else  'struck';  why 
the  sneer  when  one  is  drawn  towards 
the  theatre?  But  perhaps  no  form  of 
art  appears  to  you  necessary?" 

"  I  think  I  should  prefer  to  call  it 
'  desirable,'  since  you  ask  the  question," 
he  said.  "  And  'art '  is  a  word  used  to 
weight  a  great  many  trivialities  too! 
Everybody  who  writes  a  novel  is  an 
artist  in  his  own  estimation,  and,  per- 
sonally, I  find  existence  quite  possible 
without  novels." 

"  Did  you  ever  read  Mademoiselle  de 
Maupin?  "  asked  Miss  Cheriton. 

"  Havej/0ftf  "  he  said  quickly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  books  are  very  cheap  in 
26 


One  Man's  View 

America.  '  I  would  rather  grow  roses 
than  potatoes,'  is  one  of  the  lines  in  the 
preface.  You  would  rather  grow  pota- 
toes than  roses,  eh?" 

"  You  are  an  enthusiast,"  said  Heriot, 
"  I  see."  He  pitied  her  for  being  Dick 
Cheriton's  daughter.  She  had  inevi- 
tably the  pseudo-artist's  discontent  with 
realities  —  the  inherited  tendencies, 
fanned  by  thinly  veiled  approval!  He 
understood. 

Cheriton  came  in  after  a  few  min- 
utes, followed  by  the  aunt,  to  whom 
Heriot  was  introduced.  He  found  her 
primitive,  and  far  less  educated  than 
her  brother.  She  was  very  happy  to 
see  dear  Dick  again,  and  she  was  very 
sorry  that  she  must  lose  him  again  so 
soon.  Dear  Mamie,  though,  would  be 
a  consolation.  A  third-rate  suburban 
villa  was  legible,  imprinted  on  her;  he 
could  imagine  her  making  ghastly  an- 
timacassars for  horse-hair  armchairs, 
and  that  a  visit  to  an  Eastbourne 
27 


One  Man's  View 

boarding-house  was  the  event  of  her 
life.  She  wore  jet  earrings,  and  poured 
her  tea  into  the  saucer.  With  the  cir- 
culation of  the  tea,  strangers  drifted 
into  the  room,  and  the  conversation 
was  continued  in  undertones. 

"  Have  you  been  talking  to  Mamie 
about  her  intentions?"  Cheriton  in- 
quired. 

"We've  been  chatting,  yes.  What 
steps  do  you  mean  to  take,  Miss 
Cheriton?  What  shall  you  do?  " 

"I  propose  to  go  to  the  dramatic 
agents,"  she  said,  "and  ask  them  to 
hear  me  recite." 

"  Dramatic  agents  must  be  kept 
fairly  busy,  I  should  say.  What  if  they 
do  n't  consent?  " 

"  I  shall  recite  to  them." 

"  You  are  firm! "  he  laughed. 

"  I  am   eager,   Mr,    Heriot.     I  have 

longed   till    I    am    sick   with    longing. 

London  has  been  my  aim  since  I  was  a 

little  girl.     I  have  dreamt  of  it  —  I  've 

28 


One  Man's  View 

gone  to  sleep  hoping  that  I  might.  I 
could  n't  recall  one  of  its  streets;  but 
in  dreams  I  Ve  reached  it  over  and 
over  again!  The  way  was  generally 
across  Lincoln  Park,  in  Chicago;  and 
all  of  a  sudden  I  was  among  theatres 
and  lights,  and  it  was  London!  " 

"  And  you  were  an  actress!  And  the 
audience  showered  bouquets! " 

"  I  always  woke  up  before  I  was  an 
actress.  But  now  I  'm  here  really,  I 
mean  to  try  to  wake  London  up." 

"  I  hope  you  will,"  he  said.  Her 
faith  in  herself  was  a  little  infectious, 
since  she  was  beautiful.  If  she  had 
been  plain,  he  would  have  considered 
her  conceited. 

"Have  I  gushed?"  she  said,  colour- 
ing. 

He  was  not  sure  but   that  she  had. 

"She's  like  her  father,"  said  Cheri- 

ton  gaily  ;  "  get  her  on  the  subject  of 

Art,  and   her  tongue  runs  away  with 

her.     We  're  all  children,  we  artists  — 

29 


One  Man's  View 

up  in  the  skies,  or  down  in  the  dumps. 
No  medium  with  us!  She  must  recite 
to  you  one  of  these  days,  Heriot;  I 
want  you  to  hear  her." 

"Will  you,  Miss  Cheriton?" 

"  If  you  like,"  she  said. 

"  Dear  Mamie  must  recite  to  me," 
murmured  Mrs.  Baines;  "I'm  quite 
looking  forward  to  it!  What  sort  of 
pieces  do  you  say,  dear?  Nice  pieces?  " 

"  She  knows  the  parts  of  Juliet,  and 
Rosalind,  and  Pauline  by  heart,"  said 
Cheriton,  ignoring  his  sister.  "  I  think 
you  11  say  her  balcony  scene  is  almost 
as  fine  a  rendering  as  you  've  ever 
heard.  There 's  a  delicacy,  a  spirit- 
ual —  " 

"Has  she  been  trained?"  asked 
Heriot;  "  I  understood  she  was  quite 
a  novice." 

"  I  've  coached  her  myself,"  replied 
Cheriton  complacently.  "  I  do  n't  pre- 
tend to  be  an  elocutionist,  of  course; 
but  I  Ve  been  able  to  give  her  some 
30 


One  Man's  View 

hints.  All  the  arts  are  twins,  you 
know,  my  boy  —  it 's  only  a  difference 
in  the  form  of  expression!  They  are 
playing  Romeo  and  Juliet  at  the  theatre 
here  to-night,  and  we  're  going ;  she 
never  loses  an  opportunity  for  study. 
It 's  been  said  that  you  can  learn  as 
much  by  watching  bad  acting  as  good! 
Will  you  come  with  us?"  he  added, 
lowering  his  voice.  "  You  '11  see  how 
she  warms  up  at  the  sight  of  the  foot- 
lights." 

"I  don't  mind,"  said  Heriot,  "if  I 
shan't  be  in  the  way.  Suppose  we  all 
dine  together  at  the  hotel,  and  go  on 
from  there.  What  do  you  say?"  He 
turned  to  the  ladies,  and  the  widow 
faltered  : 

"  Lor!  I  'm  sure  it 's  very  kind  of  you 
to  invite  me,  Mr.  Heriot.  That  would 
be  gay,  would  n't  it!  " 

She  smoothed  her  flat  hair  tremu- 
lously,   and  left   the   decision  to   her 
brother  and  her  niece. 
31 


One  Man's  View 

Heriot  took  his  leave  with  the  under- 
standing that  he  was  to  expect  them, 
and  sauntered  along  the  Parade  more 
cheerfully  than  was  his  wont.  The 
girl  had  not  failed  to  impress  him, 
though  he  disapproved  of  her  tenden- 
cies; nor  did  these  appear  quite  so 
preposterous  to  him  now,  albeit  he 
thought  them  regrettable.  He  did  not 
know  whether  he  believed  in  her  or  not 
yet,  but  he  was  conscious  that  he  wished 
to  do  so.  His  paramount  reflection 
was  that  she  would  have  been  a  wholly 
charming  girl  if  she  had  had  ordinary 
advantages — a  finishing  governess, 
and  a  London  season,  and  a  touch  of 
conventionality.  He  disliked  to  use 
the  word  "conventionality,"  for  it 
sounded  priggish;  but  "convention- 
ality "  was  what  he  meant. 

At  dinner,  however,  and  more  espe- 
cially after  it,  he  forgot  his  objections. 
In  the  theatre  he  watched  Miss  Cheri- 
ton    more  attentively  than  the    stage. 
32 


One  Man's  View 

She  herself  sat  with  her  eyes  rivetted  on 
it,  and  he  could  see  that  she  was  the 
prey  to  strong  excitement.  He  won- 
dered whether  this  was  created  by  the 
performance,  which  seemed  to  him  in- 
different, or  by  the  thoughts  that  it 
awoke,  and  resolved  that  he  would  ask 
her.  When  the  curtain  fell,  and  they 
issued  into  the  street,  he  was  not  sorry 
that  Cheriton  derided  his  suggestion  of 
a  cab,  and  declared  that  the  walk  back 
would  be  agreeable.  He  kept  by  the 
girl's  side,  and  the  others  followed. 

She  did  not  speak,  and  after  a  min- 
ute he  said  : 

"  Will  it  jar  upon  you  if  I  say,  '  Let 
us  talk'?" 

She  turned  to  him  with  a  slight 
start. 

"Of  course  not!  How  can  you  think 
me  so  ridiculous?  " 

"Yet  it  did!"  said  Heriot;  "  I  could 
see." 

"  I  know  exactly  how  I  appear,"  she 
33 


One  Man's  View 

said,  constrainedly.  "  I  look  an  affected 
idiot.  If  you  knew  how  I  hate  to  appear 
affected!  I  give  you  my  word  I  do  n't 
put  it  on;  I  can't  help  it!  The  theatre 
gives  me  hot  and  cold  shivers,  and 
turns  me  inside  out.  That  is  n't  pret- 
tily expressed,  but  it  describes  what  I 
mean  as  nearly  as  possible.  Am  I 
'  enthusing'  again?  " 

"  I  never  said  you  '  enthused  '  before. 
You  're  not  my  idea  of  —  of  the  '  gush- 
ing girl '  at  all." 

"  I  'm  glad  to  hear  it.  I  was  very 
ashamed  when  you  had  gone  this  after- 
noon." She  hesitated  painfully.  "  I 
wish  I  could  explain  myself,  but  I 
can't — without  a  pen.  I  can  write 
what  I  feel  much  better  that  I  can  say 
it.  I  began  to  write  a  play  once,  and 
the  girl  said  what  I  felt  perfectly.  It 
was  a  bad  play,  but  a  big  relief.  I  've 
sometimes  thought  that  if  I  walked 
about  with  a  pen  in  my  hand,  I  should 
be  a  good  conversationalist." 
34 


One  Man's  View 

"  Try  to  tell  me  what  you  feel  with- 
out one,"  said  Heriot. 

"You  encourage  me  to  bore  you! 
Mr.  Heriot,  I  yearn,  I  crave,  to  do 
something  clever.  It  isn't  only  vanity: 
half  the  craving  is  born  of  the  desire 
to  live  among  clever  people.  Ever 
since  I  can  remember,  I  've  ached  to 
know  artists,  and  actors,  and  people 
who  write  and  do  things.  I  've  been 
cooped  among  storekeepers  without  an 
idea  in  their  heads;  I  've  never  seen  a 
man  or  woman  of  talent  in  my  life,  ex- 
cepting my  father ;  I  've  never  heard 
anybody  speak  who  knew  what  art  or 
ambition  meant.  You  may  laugh,  but 
if  I  had  it,  I  would  give  five  hundred 
dollars  to  go  home  with  some  of  those 
actresses  to-night,  and  sit  mum  in  a 
corner,  and  listen  to  them! " 

"  Do  n't  you  think  it  very  likely  you 
might  be  disappointed?"  he  asked. 

"  I  do  n't  !    I     do  n't    expect    they 
would  talk  blank  verse  at  supper,  but 
35 


One  Man's  View 

they  would  talk  of  their  work,  of  their 
hopes.  An  artist  must  be  an  artist 
always  —  on  the  stage,  or  off  it;  in  his 
studio  or  in  his  club.  My  father  is  an 
instance:  he  could  not  be  a  Philistine 
if  he  tried.  He  once  said  something 
I  've  always  remembered.  He  said: 
4  God  gave  me  my  soul,  child;  circum- 
stances gave  me  an  hotel.'  I  thought 
it  happily  put." 

Heriot  perceived  that  Cheriton  had 
thought  so  too,  since  he  had  repeated 
the  "  impromptu  "  to  himself. 

"What  a  different  world  we  should 
have  lived  in  by  now  if  he  had  kept  in 
his  profession!"  she  exclaimed.  <4 1 
quiver  when  I  realize  what  I  've  missed! 
People  I  only  know  through  their 
books,  or  the  newspapers,  would  have 
been  familiar  friends.  I  should  have 
seen  Swinburne  smoking  cigars  in  our 
parlour;  and  Sarah  Bernhardt  would 
have  dropped  in  to  tea,  and  chatted 
about  the  rehearsal  she  had  just  left, 
36 


One  Man's  View 

and  showed  me  the  patterns  of  the  new 
costumes  she  was  ordering.  Is  n't  it 
wonderful?" 

In  sympathy  for  her  he  said: 

"  It  is  possible  your  father  might 
have  remained  in  England,  and  still 
not  have  become  intimate  with  celeb- 
rities." 

She  looked  doubtful.  "  Even  if  he 
had  n't  —  and  one  likes  to  believe  in 
one's  own  father,  Mr.  Heriot — the 
atmosphere  would  have  been  right. 
They  might  n't  have  been  Swinburnes 
and  Bernhardts  that  were  at  home  in 
our  place  —  they  might  have  been 
people  the  world  has  n't  heard  of  yet. 
But  they  would  have  talked  of  the  time 
when  the  world  was  going  to  hear  of 
them.  One  can  respect  an  obscure 
genius  as  much  as  a  famous  one." 

They  had  reached  the  door  of  Belle 
Vue  Mansion;  and  when  he  was  beg- 
ged to  go  in  for  half  an  hour,  Heriot 
did  not  demur.  They  had  the  drawing- 
37 


One  Man's  View 

room  to  themselves  now,  and  Cheriton 
descanted  with  relish  on  the  qualifica- 
tions necessary  to  make  a  successful 
actress.  He  had  no  knowledge  of  the 
subject,  but  possessed  great  fluency, 
and  he  spoke  of  "broad  effects,"  and 
"communicable  emotion,"  and  "  what 
he  might  call  a  matter  of  perspective  " 
with  an  authority  which  came  near  to 
disguising  the  fact  that  there  was 
little  or  no  meaning  in  what  he  said. 
The  girl  sat  pale  and  attentive,  and 
Mrs.  Baines  listened  vaguely,  as  she 
might  have  done  to  a  discourse  in 
Choctaw.  Relatives  who  came  back 
from  abroad,  and  invited  her  to  stay 
with  them  in  a  house  where  she  cost 
two  guineas  a  week,  must  be  treated 
with  deference  ;  but  the  stage  and  the 
circus  were  of  equal  significance  to  her 
mind,  and  she  would  have  simpered 
just  as  placidly  if  her  niece  had  been 
anxious  to  jump  through  a  hoop.  Her 
chief  emotion  was  pride  at  being  in  a 
38 


One  Man's  View 

room  with  a  barrister  who,  she  had 
learnt,  was  the  brother  of  a  baronet; 
and  she  watched  him  furtively,  with  the 
anticipation  of  describing  the  event  in 
Lavender  Street,  Wandsworth,  where 
the  magnate  was  a  gentleman  who 
travelled  in  a  brougham,  and  sold 
haberdashery. 

"Would  it  be  inconsiderate  to  ask 
you  to  recite  to-night,  Miss  Cheriton?  " 
inquired  Heriot.  "  Do  n't  if  you  are 
too  tired." 

She  rose  at  once,  as  if  compelling 
herself  to  subdue  reluctance,  and 
moved  towards  the  bay  of  the  window 
slowly.  For  a  second  or  two  after  she 
stood  there  she  did  not  speak,  only  her 
lips  trembled.  Then  she  began  Portia's 
speech  on  Mercy.  In  recitation  her 
voice  had  the  slight  tremolo  which  is 
natural  to  many  beginners  who  feel 
deeply;  but  its  quality  was  delicious, 
and  her  obvious  earnestness  was  not 
without  effect.  Conscious  that  her 
39 


One  Man's  View 

gestures  were  stiff,  she  had  chosen  a 
speech  that  demanded  little  action, 
and  it  was  not  until  she  came  to 
"  Therefore,  Jew,  though  justice  be  thy 
plea,"  that  her  hands,  which  she  had 
clasped  lightly  in  front  of  her,  fell 
apart.  With  the  change  of  position, 
she  seemed  to  acquire  a  dignity  and 
confidence  that  made  the  climax  tri- 
umphant, and  though  Heriot  could  see 
that  she  had  much  to  learn,  his  com- 
pliments were  sincere. 

When  he  bade  her  good-night,  she 
looked  at  him  appealingly. 

"  Tell  me  the  truth!  "  she  said  under 
her  breath;  "  I  've  only  had  my  father's 
opinion.  Tell  me  the  truth!  " 

"  I  honestly  believe  you  're  clever," 
he  answered.  "  I  'm  sure  of  it!  "  He 
felt  his  words  to  be  very  cold  com- 
pared with  the  sympathy  that  was  stir- 
ring in  him. 

The  proprietress,  who  had  entered, 
hovered  about  with  an  eye  on  the  gas. 
4o 


One  Man's  View 

and  he  repeated  his  adieux  hurriedly. 
The  interest  he  already  took  in  the 
question  of  Miss  Cheriton's  success 
surprised  him.  The  day  had  had  a 
charm  that  was  new,  and  he  found  that 
he  was  eagerly  anticipating  the  mor- 
row. 


CHAPTER  III 

On  the  pavements  of  the  Strand  the 
snow  had  turned  to  slush;  and  from  the 
river  a  fog  was  blowing  up,  which  got 
into  the  girl's  throat,  and  made  her 
cough.  She  mounted  a  flight  of 
gloomy  stairs,  and  pulled  a  bell. 
Already  her  bearing  had  lost  some- 
thing that  had  distinguished  it  in  the 
summer:  something  of  courage.  She 
rang  the  bell  deprecatingly,  as  if 
ashamed. 

The  anteroom  into  which  she  passed 
had  become  painfully  familiar  to  her, 
like  the  faces  of  many  of  the  occu- 
pants. They  all  wore  the  same  ex- 
pression—  an  air  of  repressed  eager- 
ness: of  diffidence  striving  to  look 
assured.  The  walls  were  covered  with 


One  Man's  View 

theatrical  photographs,  and  in  a  corner 
a  pimply  youth  sat  writing  at  a  table. 
What  he  wrote  nobody  knew  or  cared. 
The  crowd  had  but  one  thought  — 
the  door  that  communicated  with  the 
agent's  private  office,  to  which  they 
prayed,  though  they  were  no  longer 
sanguine,  that  they  would  gain  admis- 
sion. It  was  four  o'clock,  and  at  five 
the  office  would  close.  There  were  so 
many  of  them,  it  was  impossible  that 
Mr.  Passmore  could  interview  every- 
body. Which  would  be  lucky  to-day? 

Mamie  also  looked  towards  the  door, 
and  from  the  door  back  to  her  com- 
panions in  distress.  A  little  fair  wo- 
man in  a  light  fawn  costume  —  terribly 
incongruous  to  the  season,  but  her 
least  shabby  —  met  her  eyes  and  spoke. 

"  Have  you  got  an  appointment?" 
she  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"No." 

"Oh,  then  you  won't  see  him,"  said 
the  little  woman  more  cheerfully.  "  I 
43 


One  Man's  View 

thought  as  you  'd  come  in  so  late  that 
you  had  an  appointment.  /  've  been 
here  since  twelve." 

The  door  opened,  and  Mr.  Passmore 
appeared  on  the  threshold.  He  did 
not  say  "  good  afternoon "  to  his 
clients;  he  cast  an  indifferent  gaze 
round  the  room,  and  signed  to  a  cadav- 
erous man  who  sat  sucking  the  handle 
of  his  umbrella. 

"Here!  you!"  he  said,  retiring 
again.  The  cadaverous  man  rose  hur- 
riedly, among  envious  glances,  and 
twenty-five  heads  that  had  been  lifted 
in  expectation  drooped  dejectedly 
afresh.  The  men  whose  watches  were 
not  pawned  looked  to  see  the  time. 

"What's  your  line?"  said  the  little 
woman,  addressing  Mamie  once  more. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon?  Oh,  I  'm  try- 
ing for  my  first  engagement;  I  haven't 
acted  yet  at  all." 

The  other  showed  surprise  and  some 
contempt. 

44 


One  Man's  View 

"A  novice,  are  you!  Good  Lord, 
it 's  no  good  your  coming  to  the  agents, 
my  dear;  they  can't  find  shops  for  us!  " 

"  I  paid  Mr.  Passmore  the  usual  fee," 
said  Mamie;  "he  promised  he'd  do 
what  he  could." 

The  little  woman  smiled,  and  turned 
her  shoulder  to  her,  declining  further 
discussion.  Another  girl  rang  the  bell, 
but  withdrew  with  a  sigh  as  she  per- 
ceived the  futility  of  waiting.  The 
cadaverous  man  came  out,  with  "  an 
engagement "  writ  large  upon  his 
features.  He  stowed  a  typewritten 
"  part  "  into  the  pocket  of  his  overcoat, 
and  nodded  a  farewell  to  an  acquaint- 
ance, whose  cast  of  countenance  pro- 
claimed him  a  low  comedian. 

"Got  anything,  dear  boy?"  inquired 
the  latter  in  a  husky  whisper. 

"  They  want  me  for  the  White  Slaves 

Company  —  the  Father!    Offered  four. 

Of  course  I  refused  point  blank.     '  No,' 

I  said,  'six.'     'Oh,'  he  said,  '  impossi- 

45 


One  Man's  View 

ble! '  I  would  n't  budge;  what  do  you 
think!  Why,  I  had  eight  with  Kava- 
nagh,  and  she 's  as  good  as  booked 
me  for  her  next  tour.  '/  do  n't  mind,' 
I  said;  'I'll  go  to  the  Harcourts!' 
They  've  been  trying  to  get  me  back, 
and  he  knows  it.  '  Do  n't  do  that,'  he 
said;  'say  five,  my  boy!'  'Six!'  I  said, 
'and  I  only  take  it  then  to  fill  in.' 
'  Well,  they  want  you,'  he  said;  '  you  're 
the  only  man  for  the  part,  and  I  sup- 
pose you've  got  to  have  your  own 
terms;  but  they  would  n't  pay  it  to  any- 
body else!'1  (His  salary  was  to  be 
three  pounds  ten,  and  he  could  have 
shed  tears  of  relief  to  get  it.) 

"  Damn  fine,  old  chap!  "  said  the  low 
comedian,  who  did  n't  believe  a  word. 
"  Is  the  comedy  part  open,  do  you 
know?  I  might  — 

"  Do  n't  think  so;  fancy  they  're  com- 
plete." His  manner  was  already  con- 
descending. 

'"Olive  oil!'" 

46 


One  Man's  View 

"  Now,  I  can't  see  you  people  to- 
day," exclaimed  Mr.  Passmore,  putting 
up  his  hands  impatiently.  "  No  good, 
Miss  Forbes,"  as  a  girl  made  a  dart 
towards  him  with  a  nervous  smile  that 
was  meant  to  be  ingratiating;  "  got 
nothing  for  you,  it  's  no  use!  .  .  . 
What  do  you  want,  my  dear?" 

Another  lady,  who  found  it  embar- 
rassing to  explain  her  anxiety  in  pub- 
lic, faltered  that  she  had  just  looked  in 
to  hear  if  Mr.  Passmore  could  kindly — " 

"  Nothing  doing!  perhaps  later  on. 
I  '11  let  you  know." 

"  You  will  bear  me  in  mind,  won't 
you,  Mr.  Passmore?"  she  pleaded. 

"What?"  he  said.  "Oh,  yes,  yes; 
I  '11  drop  you  a  postcard  —  I  won't  for- 
get you.  Good  day."  He  did  not 
even  recollect  her  name! 

"  Can  I  speak  to  you,  Mr.  Passmore?  " 
said  Mamie  rising. 

"  You?  "  he  said  questioningly.  "  Oh, 
I  can't  do  anything  for  you  yet! 

47 


One  Man's  View 

Everything 's  made  up  —  things  are 
very  quiet  just  now.  .  .  .  Here,  Miss 
Beaumont,  I  want  a  word  with  you." 

"  Give  me  a  minute,"  persisted 
Mamie.  "  I  want  an  engagement;  I 
do  n't  care  how  small  the  part  is.  I  '11 
be  a  servant,  I  '11  be  anything.  I  want 
a  beginning!  I  recited  to  you,  if  you 
remember,  and  —  " 

"Did  you?"  he  said.  "  Oh,  yes, 
yes,  I  remember  —  very  nice.  You 
wanted  to  play  Juliet!  "  He  laughed. 

"I'll  be  anything!"  she  said  again. 
I  '11  give  you  double  the  commission 
if  —  " 

"  Have  you  got  enough  voice  for 
chorus?  "  he  asked  testily.  "  How  are 
your  limbs?  " 

"  I  want  to  be  an  actress,"  she  said, 
flushing.  "  I  mean  to  work!  " 

"Come  on,  Miss  Beaumont!"  he 
cried.  And  Miss  Beaumont  swept  past 
her  into  the  sanctum. 

The  girl  who  six  months  ago  had 
48 


One  Man's  View 

looked  forward  to  playing  Juliet  made 
her  way  down  .the  dingy  staircase 
drearilv.  This  was  but  one  of  the 

•/ 

many  dramatic  agents  with  whom  she 
had  gone  through  the  form  of  register- 
ing her  name.  Mr.  Passmore's  book- 
ing-fee had  been  five  shillings;  most  of 
the  others'  booking-fee  had  been  five 
shillings;  one  had  charged  a  guinea. 
All  alike  had  been  affable  on  her  first 
visit,  and  forgotten  who  she  was  when 
she  paid  her  second;  all  had  been  re- 
minded who  she  was  on  her  second, 
and  failed  to  recognize  her  again  upon 
her  third.  She  called  on  one  or  an- 
other of  them  every  day,  and  contrived 
to  gain  such  an  interview  as  she  had 
just  had  about  once  a  week.  She  had 
taken  in  the  theatrical  papers  and  re- 
plied to  shoals  of  advertisements,  but 
as  she  had  to  admit  being  a  novice, 
nobody  ever  took  any  notice  of  her 
applications.  She  had  haunted  the 
stage-doors  when  she  read  that  a  new 
49 


One  Man's  View 

piece  was  to  be  produced,  and  begged 
in  vain  to  be  allowed  to  see  the  man- 
ager. She  had,  in  fine,  done  every- 
thing that  was  possible,  and  she  was  as 
far  from  securing  an  engagement  as  on 
the  day  that  she  arrived  in  England. 
And  she  had  talent,  and  she  was 
beautiful,  and  was  prepared  to  com- 
mence upon  the  lowest  rung  of  the 
ladder. 

The  stage  is  generally  supposed  to 
be  the  easiest  of  all  callings  to  enter. 
The  girl  who  is  unhappy  at  home,  the 
boy  who  has  been  plucked  for  the 
army,  the  woman  whose  husband  has 
failed  on  the  Stock  Exchange,  all  speak 
of  "  going  on  the  stage  "  as  calmly  as 
if  it  were  only  necessary  to  take  a  stroll 
to  get  there.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  un- 
less an  extraordinary  piece  of  fortune 
befall  her,  it  is  almost  as  difficult  for  a 
girl  without  influence,  or  a  good  deal 
of  money,  to  become  an  actress  as  it  is 
for  her  to  marry  a  duke.  She  may  be 
50 


One  Man's  View 

in  earnest,  but  there  are  thousands  who 
are  in  earnest;  she  may  be  pretty,  but 
there  are  hundreds  of  pretty  actresses 
struggling  and  unrecognized;  she  may 
be  a  genius,  but  she  has  no  opportunity 
to  display  her  gift  until  the  engage- 
ment is  obtained.  And  this  is  the  tre- 
mendous obstacle.  She  can  prove 
nothing;  she  can  only  say,  "  I  feel  I 
should  succeed."  If  she  is  allowed  to 
recite  —  and  it  is  very  rarely  that  she 
is — a  recital  is  little  or  no  test  of  her 
qualifications  for  the  boards.  She  may 
recite  superbly,  and  as  an  actress  be 
very  indifferent.  She  has  to  beg  to  be 
taken  on  trust,  while  a  myriad  women, 
eager  for  the  vacant  part,  can  cry,  "  I 
can  refer  you  to  so-and-so;  I  have  ex- 
perience !  "  Though  other  artistic  pro- 
fessions may  be  as  hard  to  rise  in,  there 
is  probably  none  other  in  which  it  is 
quite  so  difficult  to  make  the  first  steps. 
If  a  girl  is  able  to  write,  she  can  sit 
alone  in  her  bedroom  and  demonstrate 
5* 


One  Man's  View 

her  capability;  if  she  can  paint,  her 
canvases  speak  for  her;  if  she  pants  to 
be  a  prima  donna,  she  can  open  her 
mouth  and  people  hear  her  sing.  The 
would-be  actress,  alone  among  artists, 
can  do  nothing  to  show  her  fitness  for 
the  desired  vocation  until  her  self- 
estimate  has  been  blindly  accepted  — 
and  she  may  easily  fail  to  do  herself 
justice  then,  cast  as  she  will  be  for 
minor  roles  entirely  foreign  to  her  bent. 
To  succeed  on  the  stage  requires  in- 
domitable energy,  callousness  to  re- 
buffs, tact,  luck,  talent,  and  facilities 
for  living  six  or  nine  months  out  of  the 
year  without  earning  a  shilling.  To 
get  on  to  the  stage  requires  valuable 
introductions  or  considerable  means. 
If  a  woman  has  neither,  the  chances 
are  in  favour  of  her  seeking  a  com- 
mencement vainly  all  her  life.  And  as 
to  a  young  man  so  situated,  who  seeks 
it,  he  is  endeavouring  to  pass  through 
a  brick  wall. 

52 


One  Man's  View 

Mamie  descended  the  dingy  stair- 
case, and  at  the  foot  she  saw  the  girl 
who  had  been  addressed  as  "  Miss 
Forbes."  She  was  standing  on  the 
doorstep,  gathering  up  her  skirts.  It 
had  commenced  to  snow  again,  and 
she  contemplated  the  dark,  damp  street 
shrinkingly.  An  impulse  seized  Mamie 
to  speak  as  she  passed.  From  such 
trifles  great  things  sometimes  followed, 
she  remembered.  She  was  at  the  age 
when  the  possibility  of  the  happy  acci- 
dent recurs  to  the  mind  constantly  —  a 
will-o'-the-wisp  that  lightens  the  gloom. 
The  reflection  takes  marvellous  forms, 
and  at  twenty-one  the  famous  actor  — 
of  the  aspirant's  imagination — who 
goes  about  the  world  crying,  "A  genius! 
you  must  come  to  me !  "  may  be  met 
in  any  omnibus.  The  famous  actor  of 
the  aspirant's  imagination  is  like  the 
editor  as  conceived  by  the  general 
public :  he  spends  his  life  in  quest  of 
obscure  ability. 

53 


One  Man's  View 

"If  we- 're  going  the  same  way,  I 
can  offer  you  a  share  of  my  umbrella," 
she  said. 

"  Oh,  thanks,"  said  the  girl  in  a 
slightly  surprised  voice  ;  "  I  'm  going 
to  Charing  Cross." 

"  And  /  'm  going  to  Victoria,  so  our 
road  is  the  same,"  said  Mamie. 

A  feeling  of  passionate  pleasure  suf- 
fused her  as  she  moved  away  by  the 
girl's  side  through  the  yellow  fog. 
The  roar  of  the  Strand  had  momenta- 
rily the  music  of  her  dreams  while  she 
yearned  in  Duluth,  and  the  greatness 
of  the  city  —  the  London  of  theatres, 
Art,  and  books  —  throbbed  in  her  veins. 
She  was  walking  with  an  actress ! 

"  Is  n't  it  beastly?  "  said  the  girl.  "  I 
suppose  you  've  got  to  train  it?" 

"Yes;  I'm  living  in  Wandsworth. 
Have  you  far  to  go?  " 

"Netting  Hill.  I  take  the 'bus.  Pass- 
more  had  n't  got  anything  for  you,  had 
he?" 

54 


One  Man's  View 

Mamie  shook  her  head. 

"  We  were  both  unlucky.  But  per- 
haps it  does  n't  matter  so  much  to 
you?  " 

"  Does  n't  it!  ...  Have  you  been 
on  his  books  long,  Miss  — ?  " 

"  Miss  Cheriton —  Mamie  Cheriton." 

"That's  a  good  name;  it  sounds 
like  a  character  in  a  play  —  as  if  she  'd 
have  a  love-scene  under  the  apple 
blossoms!  Where  were  you  last?" 

"At  Mr.  Faulkner's;  but  he  didn't 
know  of  any  vacancy  either." 

"  I  do  n't  mean  that,"  said  Miss 
Forbes;  "I  mean,  how  long  have  you 
been  '  out '?" 

"  Oh,"  answered  Mamie,  "  I  left  home 
at  one  o'clock;  that 's  the  worst  of  liv- 
ing such  a  long  way  off!  " 

The  other  stared. 

"Don't  you  understand?"  she  ex- 
claimed. "  I  mean,  what  company  were 
you  in  last?  and  when  did  it  finish?  " 

"Oh,  I  see,"  stammered  Mamie. 
55 


One  Man's  View 

"  I  'm  sorry  to  say  I  've  everything  in 
front  of  me!  I  've  never  had  a  part 
yet  at  all.  I  'm  that  awful  thing,  a 
novice." 

"Crumbs!"  said  Miss  Forbes. 

"  I  guess  you  actresses  look  down  on 
novices  rather?  " 

"  Well,  the  profession  is  full  enough 
already,  goodness  knows!  Still,  I  sup- 
pose we  've  all  got  a  right  to  begin.  I 
do  n't  mind  a  novice  who  goes  to  the 
agents  in  the  snow;  it  shows  she  means 
business,  anyhow.  It 's  the  amateurs 
who  go  to  the  managers  in  hansoms 
that  I  hate.  But  it 's  an  awful  strug- 
gle, my  dear,  take  my  word  for  it; 
you  'd  better  stop  at  home  if  you  can 
afford  to!  And  Passmore  will  never  be 
any  use  to  you.  Look  at  me!  I  've 
been  going  to  him  for  four  months; 
and  I  played  '  Prince  Arthur '  on  tour 
with  Sullivan  when  I  was  nine." 

"  I  am  looking  at  you,"  said  Mamie, 
smiling,  "  and  envying  you  till  I  'm  ill- 
56 


One  Man's  View 

You  say  Passmore  is  no  use:  let  me 
into  a  secret.  What  can  I  do  to  get  an 
engagement?  " 

"  Blessed  if  /  know,  if  you  have  n't 
got  any  friends  to  pull  the  strings.  I  'd 
like  to  know  the  secret  myself!  Well," 
she  broke  off,  "  perhaps  we  shall  meet 
again.  I  must  say  '  good  evening ' 
here;  there  's  my  'bus." 

"Don't  go  yet!"  begged  Mamie. 
"  Won't  you  come  and  have  some  tea 
first?" 

Miss  Forbes  hesitated  eloquently. 

"  I  shall  get  tea  when  I  reach  home," 
she  murmured,  "  and  I  'm  rather 
late." 

"  Oh,  let  me  invite  an  actress  to  tea. 
Do,  please!  It  will  be  the  next  best 
thing  to  getting  a  part." 

"  You  're  very  kind.  I  do  n't  mind, 
I  'm  sure.  There  's  a  place  close  by 
where  they  give  you  a  pot  for  two  for 
fourpence.  You're  American,  aren't 
you?" 

57 


One  Man's  View 

"  I  've  lived  in  America;  I  'm  Eng- 
lish really." 

They  entered  the  establishment  re- 
ferred to,  and  seated  themselves  at  a 
table.  Mamie  ordered  a  pot  of  tea 
and  muffins. 

"It's  nice  and  warm  in  here!"  she 
said. 

"  Is  n't  it!  I  noticed  you  in  the  office. 
My  name  is  Mabel  Forbes;  but  I  dare- 
say you  heard  Passmore  speak  to  me?" 

"Yes;  he  didn't  speak  very  nicely, 
did  he?" 

"They  never  do;  they're  all  alike. 
They  know  we  can't  do  without  them, 
and  they  treat  us  like  dirt.  I  tell  you, 
it 's  awful;  you  do  n't  know  what  you  're 
letting  yourself  in  for,  my  dear!  " 

"To  succeed  I  'd  bear  anything,  all 
the  snubs  and  drudgery  imaginable.  I 
do  know;  I  know  it 's  not  to  be  avoided. 
I  've  read  the  biographies  of  so  many 
great  actresses.  I  should  think  of  the 
future  —  the  reward.  I  'd  set  my  teeth 
58 


One  Man's  View 

and  live  for  that  time;  and  I  'd  work 
for  it  morning,  noon,  and  night." 

"  It  would  do  me  good  to  live  with 
you  if  we  were  on  tour  together,"  said 
Miss  Forbes  cheerfully;  "you'd  keep 
my  pecker  up,  I  think!  I  loathe  sharing 
diggings  with  another  girl,  as  a  rule; 
one  always  quarrels  with  her,  and,  with 
the  same  bedroom,  one  has  nowhere  to 
go  and  cry.  After  they  've  been  in  the 
profession  a  few  years  they  do  n't  talk 
like  you.  Not  that  there  's  really  much 
in  it,"  she  added  with  a  sigh.  "To  set 
your  teeth  and  work  morning,  noon,  and 
night  sounds  very  fine,  but  what  does 
it  amount  to?  It  means  you  'd  get  two- 
ten  a  week,  and  study  leading  business 
on  the  quiet  till  you  thought  you  were 
as  good  as  Ellen  Terry.  But  if  no- 
body made  you  an  offer,  what  then?" 

"You  mean  it 's  possible  to  be  really 
clever,  and  yet  not  to  come  to  the 
front?  "  asked  Mamie  earnestly. 

"  How  can  you  come  to  the  front  if 
59 


One  Man's  View 

no  one  gives  you  the  opportunity?  You 
may  be  liked  where  you  are  —  in  what 
you're  doing  —  but  you  can't  play 
'  lead '  in  London,  unless  a  London 
manager  offers  you  an  engagement  to 
play  '  lead,'  can  you?  You  can't  make 
him.  Do  you  suppose  the  only  clever 
actresses  alive  are  the  ones  who  are 
known?  Besides,  if  leading  business 
is  what  you  are  thinking  of,  I  do  n't  be- 
lieve you  've  the  physique  for  it;  you 
do  n't  look  strong  enough.  I  should 
have  thought  light  comedy  was  more 
your  line." 

"  It  is  n't.  If  I  'm  meant  for  any- 
thing, it 's  for  drama,  and  —  and  tra- 
gedy. But  I  'd  begin  in  the  smallest 
capacity,  and  be  grateful.  The  ideas  I 
had  when  I  came  to  London  have  been 
knocked  out  of  me  —  and  they  were 
moderate  enough  too!  I  'd  begin  by 
saying  that  the  dinner  was  ready. 
Surely  it  can't  be  so  difficult  to  get  an 


60 


One  Man's  View 

opening  like  that,  if  one  knows  the 
way  to  go  about  it?  " 

"  Well,  look  here,  my  dear.  I  played 
'  Prince  Arthur '  with  Sullivan  when  I 
was  nine,  as  I  tell  you,  and  I  've  been 
in  the  profession  ever  since.  But  I  Ve 
been  out  of  an  engagement  four  months 
now.  All  I  could  save  out  of  my  last 
screw  has  gone  in  'bus  fares  and 
stamps;  and  my  people  haven't  got 
any  more  than  they  know  how  to 
spend.  If  an  engagement  to  announce 
the  dinner  had  been  offered  me  to-day, 
I  'd  have  taken  it;  and  I  'd  be  going 
back  to  Netting  Hill  happy." 

"  I  'm  awfully  sorry,"  said  Mamie 
sympathetically.  "  Shall  we  have  an- 
other muffin?  " 

"  No,  I  do  n't  want  any  more,  thanks. 
But  you  Ve  no  idea  what  a  business  it 
is.  I  Ve  got  talent  and  experience, 
and  I  'm  not  bad-looking,  and  yet  you 
see  how  I  Ve  got  to  struggle.  One  is 


61 


One  Man's  View 

always  too  late  everywhere!  I  was  at 
the  Queen's  this  morning.  There  are 
always  any  number  of  small  parts  in 
the  Queen's  things,  you  know,  and  I 
thought  there  might  be  a  chance  for 
'The  Pride  of  the  Troop.'  They'd 
got  everybody  except  the  extra-ladies. 
By  the  way,  you  might  try  to  get  on  at 
the  Queen's  as  an  extra,  if  you  like. 
With  your  appearance  you  'd  have  a 
very  good  chance,  I  should  say." 

Mamie  felt  her  heart  stirring  fever- 
ishly. "  Do  you  mean  it?  "  she  asked. 
"  What  are  '  extras  '  — you  do  n't  mean 
'supers  '?" 

"  Oh,  they  're  better  than  supers  — 
different  class,  you  know.  Of  course 
they  've  nothing  to  say  excepting  in 
chorus.  They  come  on  in  the  race- 
course scene  and  the  ballroom,  and 
look  nice.  They  wear  swagger  frocks 
—  the  management  finds  the  extras, 
dresses  —  and  are  supposed  to  murmur, 
and  laugh,  and  act  in  dumb-show  in  the 
62 


One  Man's  View 

background.  You  know!  They're 
frightful  fools  —  a  girl  who  could  act  a 
bit  would  stand  out  among  extra-ladies 
like  a  Bernhardt  at  the  Ladbroke  Hall! " 

"  If  they  would  take  me,"  said 
Mamie,  clasping  her  hands;  "  if  they 
would  only  take  me!  Do  you  really 
think  they  will?" 

"  It  could  n't  hurt  to  try.  Ask  for 
Mr.  Casey,  and  tell  him  you  want  to 
'  walk  on.'  There,  I  've  given  you  a 
hint  after  all,"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  got 
up;  "one  can't  think  of  everything 
right  off !  It  might  prove  a  start  for 
you;  who  knows?  If  Casey  sees  you  're 
intelligent,  he  may  give  you  a  line  or 
two  to  speak.  You  go  up  to  one  of 
the  principals,  and  say,  '  Lord  Tom- 
noddy, where 's  that  bracelet  you 
promised  to  send  me  when  I  saw  you 
at  Kempton  Park?'  Then  the  low- 
comedy  merchant  —  it's  generally  the 
low-comedy  merchant  you  speak  to  — 
says  something  that  gets  a  laugh,  and 
63 


One  Man's  View 

bustles  up  the  stage,  and  you  run  after 
him  angrily.  But  do  n't  be  sanguine, 
even  of  getting  on  as  an  extra!  There  's 
always  a  crowd  of  women  besieging  the 
Queen's  at  every  production,  you  won't 
be  the  only  pretty  one.  Well,  I  must 
be  going,  my  dear.'  I  wish  you  luck!  " 

"  And  luck  to  you! "  said  Mamie, 
squeezing  her  hand  gratefully;  "and 
many,  many  thanks!  I  look  forward 
to  telling  you  the  result.  I  suppose 
we  're  sure  to  see  each  other  at  Mr. 
Passmore's?" 

"  Oh,  we  're  bound  to  run  against 
each  other  somewhere  before  long! " 
returned  Miss  Forbes  cordially.  "  Yes, 
I  shall  be  curious  to  hear  what  you  do; 
I  've  enjoyed  our  chat  very  much. 
Take  care  of  yourself !  " 

She  hurried  towards  her  'bus,  waving 
an  "  au  revoir,"  and  Mamie  crossed  the 
road.  London  widened  between  the 
girls  —  and  their  paths  in  it  never  met 
again. 

64 


CHAPTER  IV 

As  she  reached  the  opposite  pave- 
ment Heriot  exclaimed:  "  Miss  Cheri- 
ton!  Are  you  going  to  cut  me?  " 

"You?"  she  cried  with  surprise. 
"  It  was  —  it  was  the  fog's  fault;  I 
did  n't  see.  What  a  stranger  you  are! 
it 's  a  fortnight  since  you  came  out  to 
us.  A  'fortnight,'  you  observe.  I  'm 
4  quite  English,  you  know,'  now." 

"  You  're  in  good  spirits,"  he  said. 
44  What  have  you  been  doing?  " 

44 1  've  been  rising  in  my  career,"  she 
answered  gaily.  44 1  have  had  tea  in  a 
cakeshop  with  an  actress!  I  have  just 
shaken  hands  with  her;  she  has  just 
given  me  a  piece  of  advice,  I  am,  in 
imagination,  already  a  personage!  " 

44  Who  is  she?"  asked  Heriot. 
65 


One  Man's  View 

"Where  does  she  come  from?  .  .  . 
Let  me  see  you  to  Victoria.  I  sup- 
pose that 's  where  you  are  going?  " 

He  stopped  a  hansom,  and  scruti- 
nized her  sadly  as  they  took  their 
seats.  "  Have  you  been  out  in  this 
weather  long?  "  he  said.  "  You  poor 
child,  how  wet  you  must  be!  Well, 
you  know  an  actress!  Am  I  not  to  be 
told  all  about  it?" 

She  was  as  voluble  as  he  wished;  he 
had  become  in  the  last  few  months  her 
confidant  and  consoler.  Lavender 
Street,  Wandsworth,  or  such  of  the 
residents  who  commanded  a  view  of 
No.  20,  had  learnt  to  know  his  figure 
well.  A  while  ago  he  had  marvelled 
at  the  role  he  was  filling;  latterly  he 
had  ceased  to  marvel.  He  realized  the 
explanation,  and  as  he  listened  to  the 
tale  her  words  smote  him.  It  hurt 
him  to  think  of  the  girl  beside  him 
cringing  to  a  theatrical  agent,  forming 
a  chance  acquaintance  in  the  streets, 
66 


One  Man's  View 

and  contemplating  so  ignoble  a  posi- 
tion as  the  one  of  which  she  spoke. 
He  looked  at  her  yearningly. 

"  You  are  not  pleased,"  she  said. 

"  Is  there  a  great  deal  to  be  pleased 
at?  Is  this  sort  of  thing  worthy  of 
you?" 

"  It  is  the  first  step.  Oh,  be  nice 
about  it,  do!  If  you  understood  — 
can  I  be  a  Juliet  at  once!  If  I  am  to 
succeed  —  " 

"  I  have  sympathized  with  you,"  he 
said;  "  I  've  entered  into  your  feel- 
ings; I  do  understand!  But  you  do  n't 
know  what  you  're  meditating.  Ad- 
mitting it 's  inevitable  —  admitting,  if 
you  're  to  be  an  actress,  that  you  must 
begin,  since  you  've  no  influence,  where 
you  're  content  to  begin  —  can  you 
bear  it?  These  women  you  '11  be 
thrown  amongst  —  " 

"  Some  at  least,"  she  said,  "  will 
surely  be  like  myself!  I  am  not  the 
only  girl  who  has  to  begin  at  the  bot- 
67 


One  Man's  View 

torn  !  And  if,  whatever  they  are,  it 
can't  be  helped.  Remember,  I  'm  in 
earnest!  I  talked  at  first  wildly;  I 
see  how  childish  I  was.  What  should 
I  be  if  I  faltered  because  the  path  is  n't 
strewn  with  roses?  An  actress  must 
be  satisfied  to  work." 

"  It  is  not  decreed  that  you  need  be 
an  actress,"  answered  Heriot.  "  After 
all,  there  is  no  necessity  to  fight  for 
subsistence.  If  you  were  compelled  — 

"  There  are  other  compelling  forces 
than  poverty.  Can't  you  recognize 
ambition?  " 

"Haven't  I?"  he  said.  "Have  I 
been  wood?" 

"Ah,"  she  smiled;  "forgive  me!  I 
didn't  mean  that.  But  be  nice  still! 
Am  I  to  reject  a  career  because  I  'm 
not  starving  ?  I  'm  starving  with  my 
soul!  I  'm  like  a  poor  mute  battling 
for  voice.  I  want  —  I  want  to  give  ex- 
pression to  what  I  feel  within  me." 
She  beat  her  hands  in  her  lap.  "  I  'm 
68 


One  Man's  View 

willing  to  struggle  —  eager  to !  You  've 
always  known  it!  Why  do  you  disap- 
point me  now?  I  have  to  begin  even 
lower  down  than  I  understood,  that 's 
all.  And  what  is  it?  I  shall  be  sur- 
rounded by  artists  then!  By  degrees 
I  shall  rise.  'You  are  in  the  right 
way,  but  remember  what  I  say,  Study, 
study,  study!  Study  well,  and  God 
bless  you! '  Do  you  know  who  said 
that  ?  —  Mrs.  Siddons  to  Macready.  It 
was  at  Newcastle,  and  it  was  about  her 
performance  the  same  night  that  he 
wrote  :  '  The  violence  of  her  emotion 
seemed  beyond  her  power  longer  to 
endure,  and  the  words,  faintly  articu- 
lated, "  Was  he  alive?  "  sent  an  elec- 
tric thrill  through  the  audience.'  Think 
what  that  means;  three  words!  I  can't 
do  it;  I  've  tried — oh,  how  I  've  tried  ! 
For  months  after  I  read  that  book,  I 
used  to  say  them  dozens  of  times  every 
day,  with  every  intonation  I  could 
think  of.  But  there  was  no  effect,  no 
69 


One  Man's  View 

thrill  even  to  myself.  '  Study,  study, 
study!  Keep  your  mind  on  your  art, 
do  not  remit  your  study,  and  you  are 
certain  to  succeed  ! '  I  will  keep  my 
mind  on  it,  I  '11  obey  her  advice,  I  will 
succeed  !  Heaven  could  n't  be  so  cruel 
as  to  let  me  fail  after  putting  such 
longings  into  me  !  " 

Heriot  sighed.  The  impulse  to  tell 
her  that  he  loved  her,  to  keep  her  to 
himself,  was  mastering  him.  Never 
before  had  her  hold  on  him  been  dis- 
played so  vividly,  nor  had  the  tempta- 
tion to  throw  prudence  to  the  winds 
been  quite  so  strong. 

"  If  you  had  a  happier  home,"  he 
said,  "there  would  be  other  influences. 
Do  n't  think  me  impertinent,  but  it 
can't  be  very  lively  for  you  in  that 
house." 

"Aunt  Lydia  is  not  ideal  !  But  — 
but  I  was  just  the  same  in  Duluth." 

"Duluth!"     he    echoed;     "it    was 
dreary  in  Duluth  too." 
70 


One  Man's  View 

"  At  all  events,  I  had  my  father 
there." 

"What  does  he  write?"  asked  Her- 
iot.  "  Have  you  had  a  letter  since  I 
saw  you  ?  " 

"  He  gives  no  news.  The  news  is  to 
come  from  me." 

"  I  think  there  's  a  little,"  he  said; 
"  I  can  tell  it  by  your  tone." 

"  It 's  cheerful  to  be  with  some  one 
who  can  tell  things  by  one's  tone. 
Well,  he  thinks,  if  I  can't  make  a 
commencement,  that  I  may  as  well  go 
back." 

"  I  see,"  he  said.  "  I  won't  ask  you 
if  you  mean  to." 

She  laughed  a  shade  defiantly.  "  Du- 
luth  has  many  charms.  I  've  been 
remembering  them  since  his  letter! 
There  is  my  father,  and  there  's  straw- 
berry shortcake.  My  father  will  be 
disappointed  in  me  if  I  have  to  go; 
the  strawberry  shortcake  —  well,  there  's 
a  tiny  shop  there  where  they  sell  it  hot, 
7' 


One  Man's  View 

and  they  turn  on  the  cream  with  a  tap, 
out  of  a  thing  that  looks  like  a  minia- 
ture cistern! " 

"  You  're  not  going  back,"  he  said. 
"  You  're  going  on  the  stage  as  a  super- 
numerary instead! " 

In  the  flare  of  the  station  lamps  her 
eyes  flashed  at  him;  he  could  see  the 
passionate  trembling  of  her  mouth. 
The  cab  stopped,  and  they  got  out, 
and  threaded  their  way  among  the 
crowd  to  the  barriers.  There  was  a 
train  in  ten  minutes,  Heriot  learnt. 

"  Shall  we  go  to  the  waiting-room?  " 
he  asked. 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Cheriton. 

"  Forgive  me  what  I  said  just  now. 
I  am  sorry." 

"What  does  it  matter?" 

"  It  was  brutal." 

"  Rather,  perhaps.  It  was  unex- 
pected. You  have  failed  me  when  I 
wanted  you  most." 

He  took  two  first-class  tickets  —  he 
72 


One  Man's  View 

wished  to  be  alone  with  her,  and  he 
knew  that  she  travelled  "second." 

"  I  'm  coming  with  you,"  he  said. 

"  But  you  can't  have  dined  ?  Our 
suppers  are  not  extensive." 

"  Let  us  get  in!  "  he  answered. 

They  had  the  compartment  to  them- 
selves when  the  door  banged,  and  he 
regarded  her  silently,  with  nerves  that 
had  escaped  control. 

"  I  have  warned  you,"  she  said.  "  It 
will  be  something  out  of  a  tin  for  cer- 
tain, with  vinegar  over  it." 

"Mamie!" 

There  was  rebuke  in  her  expression. 

"  Mamie!  "  he  repeated,  "  I  love  you. 
Why  I  dislike  your  going  on  the  stage 
is  because  I  want  you  myself.  I  was 
'  brutal,'  because  I  'm  fond  of  you.  Will 
you  marry  me?" 

She  lay  back  against  the  darkness  of 
the  cushions,  pale  and  startled. 

"  Are  you  serious?  "  she  said.  "  You 
—  want  to  marry  me!  Do  you  mean  it?  " 
73 


One  Man's  View 

"  I  mean  it.  I  do  n't  seem  able  to 
tell  you  how  much  I  mean  it!  Can 
you  like  me  well  enough  to  be  my 
wife?  " 

"  I  do  like  you,"  she  stammered, 
"  but  I  had  n't  an  idea.  ...  I  never 
thought  you  thought —  Oh,  I  'm 
sorry! " 

"  Why?   Why  can't  you  say  '  yes  '?  " 

"And  marry  you!  " 

"  I  '11  be  very  gentle  to  you,"  he  said 
shakily.  "I  —  for  God's  sake,  don't 
judge  my  love  for  you  by  the  way  I 
put  it!  I  have  n't  had  much  practice 
in  love-making,  it 's  a  pity,  perhaps! 
There  's  a  word  that  says  it  all  —  I 
'  worship  '  you.  My  darling,  what  have 
you  to  look  forward  to?  You  've  seen, 
you  've  tried,  you  know  what  an  uphill 
life  it  will  be.  It 's  not  as  if  I  begged 
you  to  waive  your  hopes  while  you  had 
encouragement  to  hope  —  you  Ve  made 
the  attempt,  and  you  know  the  diffi- 
culties now!  Come  to  me  instead.  You 
74 


One  Man's  View 

shall  live  where  you  like — you  can 
choose  your  own  quarter.  You  can 
have  everything  you  care  for — books, 
pictures,  theatres  too.  Oh,  my  sweet! 
come  to  me,  and  I  '11  fulfil  every  wish. 
Will  you,  Mamie?" 

"I  can't,"  she  said  tremulously;  "it 
would  n't  be  fair."  Her  eyes  shone  at 
him,  and  she  leant  forward  with  parted 
lips.  "  I  like  you,  I  like  you  very 
much,  but  I  do  n't — I  'm  not —  I  've 
never  been  in  love  with  any  one!  " 

"  I  will  be  grateful  for  small  mercies," 
said  Heriot  with  an  unhappy  laugh. 

"  And  I  could  not  do  what  you  ask. 
If  I  fail,  I  fail;  but  I  must  persevere. 
I  can't  accept  failure  voluntarily  —  I 
can't  stretch  out  my  arms  to  it.  I 
should  despise  myself  if  I  gave  in 
to-day.  Even  you — " 

"You  know  better  than  that,"  he 
said. 

"Well,  yes,"  she  owned,  "perhaps 
I  'm  wrong  there!  To  you  it  would 
75 


One  Man's  View 

seem  a  sensible  step;  but  I  believe  in 
myse  All  my  life  I  've  had  the 
thought,  and  I  should  be  miserable;  I 
should  hate  myself.  I  should  be  like 
my  father — I  should  be  always  thinking 
of  the  '  might  have  been.'  You  'd  be 
good  to  me,  but  you  'd  know  you  'd 
been  a  fool.  I  'm  not  a  bit  the  sort  of 
woman  you  should  marry,  and  you  'd 
repent  it." 

Heriot  took  her  hand  and  held  it 
tightly. 

"  I  love  you,"  he  said.  "  Consider 
your  own  happiness  only.  I  love  you!  " 

"I  am  quite  selfish  —  I  know  it 
would  n't  content  me;  I  'm  not  pre- 
tending to  any  nobility.  But  I  'm 
sorry,  I  may  say  that.  I  did  n't  dream 
you  liked  me  in  this  way.  I  'm  not 
hard,  I  'm  not  a  horror,  and  I  can  see 
—  I  can  see  that  I  'm  a  lot  to  you." 

"  I  'm  glad  of  that,"  he  said  simply. 
"Yes,  you're  'a  lot  to  me,' Mamie. 
If  you  know  it,  and  you  can't  care  for 
76 


One  Man's  View 

me  enough,  there  's  no  more  for  me  to 
say.  Do  n't  worry  yourself.  It 's  not 
unusual  for  a  man  to  be  fond  of  a 
woman  who  does  n't  want  to  marry 
him." 


CHAPTER   V 

She  betook  herself  to  the  Queen's 
next  morning  less  buoyantly  than  she 
had  anticipated.  Her  meeting  with 
Heriot  had  depressed  her.  She  re- 
tained much  of  the  nature  of  a  child, 
and  laughed  or  cried  very  easily.  She 
had  met  Heriot  laughing,  and  he  had 
been  serious  and  sad.  With  some  petu- 
lance she  felt  that  she  was  very  unfor- 
tunate in  that  he  had  fallen  in  love 
with  her,  and  chosen  that  particular  day 
to  tell  her  so. 

She  entered  the  stage-door  with  no 
presentiment  of  conquest,  and  inquired 
of  the  man  in  the  little  recess  if  Mr. 
Casey  was  in  the  theatre.  Stage-door 
keepers  are  probably  the  surliest  class 
in  existence.  They  have  much  to  try 
78 


One  Man's  View 

them,  and  they  spend  their  lives  in  a 
violent  draught;  but  the  only  known 
creature  more  uncivil  to  the  public  at 
large  than  a  stage-door  keeper  is  a 
policeman. 

He  took  her  measure  in  an  instant, 
saving  in  one  particular  —  she  was  pre- 
pared to  give  him  a  shilling,  and  he 
did  not  suspect  it! 

"  Mr.  Casey's  on  the  stage,"  he  said, 
"  he  won't  be  disturbed  now!" 

"  If  I  waited  do  you  think  I  might 
see  him?" 

"I  could  n't  tell  you,  I  'm  sure." 

He  resumed  his  perusal  of  a  news- 
paper, and  Mamie  looked  at  him 
through  the  aperture  helplessly.  There 
was  the  usual  lot  of  loafers  about  the 
step  —  a  scene-hand  or  two  in  their 
shirt-sleeves,  a  girl  in  her  pathetic  best 
dress,  also  hoping  for  miracles,  a  mem- 
ber of  the  company  who  had  slipped 
out  from  rehearsal  to  smoke  a  cigarette. 

Cerberus  was  shown  where  his  esti- 
79 


One  Man's  View 

mate  had  been  at  fault.  He  -said 
"  Miss"  now:  "If  you  write  your  busi- 
ness on  one  of  these  forms  I  '11  send  it 
in  to  Mr.  Casey,  Miss." 

He  gave  her  a  stump  of  pencil,  and  a 
printed  slip  specially  designed  to  scare 
intruders.  She  wrote  her  name,  and 
Mr.  Casey's  name,  and  could  find  no 
scope  for  euphemisms  regarding  the 
nature  of  the  interview  she  sought. 
She  added,  "  To  obtain  engagement  as 
Extra,"  and  returned  the  paper  with 
embarrassment.  She  was  sufficiently 
unsophisticated  in  such  matters  to  as- 
sume that  her  object  had  not  been 
divined. 

"'Ere,  Bill."  One  of  the  scene- 
hands  turned.  "  Take  it  in  to  Mr. 
Casey  for  this  lady." 

The  man  addressed  as  Bill  departed 
through  a  second  door  with  a  grunt  and 
a  bang,  and  she  waited  expectantly. 
The  girl  in  her  best  frock  sneered;  she 
could  not  afford  to  dispense  shillings 
80 


One  Man's  View 

herself,  and  already  her  feet  ached. 
The  door  swung  back  constantly.  At 
intervals  of  a  few  seconds  a  stream  of 
nondescripts  issued  from  the  unknown 
interior,  and  Mamie  stood  watching  for 
the  features  of  her  messenger.  It  was 
nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  he 
reappeared,  however. 

"  Mr.  Casey  can't  see  you,"  he  an- 
nounced. 

The  hall-keeper  heard  the  intelli- 
gence with  absolute  indifference;  but 
the  girl  on  the  step  looked  gratified. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  asked  Mamie. 

"  I  can't  do  no  more  than  send  in  for 
you,  Miss.  It  ain't  much  good  your 
waiting  —  the  '  call'  won't  be  over  till 
three  o'clock." 

"  Could  I  see  him  then?  " 

"  He  '11  come  out.  If  you  like  to 
take  your  chance — " 

"I'll  come  back  at  three  o'clock," 
she  said.  It  was  then  eleven. 

She  turned  into  the  Strand  —  the 
81 


One  Man's  View 

Strand  that  has  broken  more  hearts 
than  Fleet  Street.  Here  a  young  actor 
passed  her,  who  was  likewise  pacing 
the  inhospitable  pavements  until  the 
hour  arrived  in  which  he  hoped  that 
patience  and  importunity  might  bear 
result.  He  wore  a  fashionable  over- 
coat, and  swung  his  cane  with  a  gloved 
hand.  Presently  he  would  seek  a  pub- 
lic house,  and  lunch  on  a  scone  and  a 
glass  of  "  mild-and-bitter."  If  he  had 
"  bitter,"  he  would  be  a  halfpenny 
short  in  his  homeward  fare  to  Bow. 
There  a  burlesque  actress  went  by,  who 
had  "married  a  swell."  His  family 
had  been  deeply  wounded,  and  they 
showed  their  mortification  by  allowing 
her  to  support  him.  She  had  had 
three  children;  and  when  he  was 
drunk,  which  was  frequently,  he  said, 
"  God  forbid  that  they  should  ever  be- 
come damned  mummers  like  their 
mother! "  A  manager  had  just  told 
her  that  "she  had  lost  her  figure,  and 
82 


One  Man's  View 

would  n't  look  the  part!  "  and  she  was 
walking  back  to  Islington,  where  the 
brokers  were  in  the  house.  A  popular 
comedian,  who  had  been  compelled  to 
listen  to  three  separate  tales  of  distress 
between  Charing  Cross  and  Bedford 
Street,  and  had  already  lent  unfortu- 
nate acquaintances  thirty  shillings, 
paused,  and  hailed  a  hansom  from 
motives  of  economy.  It  was  the  typi- 
cal crowd  of  the  Strand,  a  crowd  of  the 
footlights.  The  men  whose  positions 
had  been  won  were  little  noticeable, 
but  the  gait  and  costume  of  the  major- 
ity —  affected  Youth  and  disheartened 
Age  —  indicated  their  profession  to  the 
least  experienced  eyes.  Because  she 
grew  very  tired,  and  not  that  she  had 
any  expectation  of  hearing  good  news, 
Mamie  went  into  Mr.  Passmore's  office 
and  sat  down. 

And  she  did  not  hear  any.    After  an 
hour  she  went  away,  and  rested  next  in 
the  anteroom  of  another  of  the  agents, 
83 


One  Man's  View 

who  repeated  that  things  were  very 
quiet,  and  that  he  would  n't  forget  her. 
At  a  quarter  to  three  she  went  back  to 
the  Queen's. 

"  Is  he  coming  out  now?  "  she  said. 
"Am  I  too  soon?" 

"  Eh?  "  said  the  hall-keeper. 

"  You  told  me  he  'd  be  out  about 
three.  I  was  asking  for  Mr.  Casey  this 
morning." 

"  Oh,  were  you?  "  he  said.  "  There  's 
been  a  good  many  asking  for  him  since 
then."  He  gradually  recalled  her.  "Mr. 
Casey's  gone,  "he  added;  "they  finished 
early.  He  won't  be  here  till  to-night." 

There  was  a  week  in  which  she  went 
to  the  stage-door  of  the  Queen's  Theatre 
every  day,  at  all  hours,  and  at  last  she 
learnt  casually  that  as  many  "extras" 
as  were  required  for  the  production  had 
been  engaged.  There  were  months 
during  which  she  persisted  in  her  appli- 
cations at  other  stage-doors,  and  hope 
still  flickered  within  her.  But  when 
84 


One  Man's  View 

September  came,  and  a  year  had 
passed  since  her  arrival,  the  expiring 
spark  had  faded  into  lassitude.  She 
tried  no  longer.  Only  sometimes,  out 
of  the  sickness  of  her  soul,  the  impulse 
to  write  was  born,  and  she  picked  up  a 
pen. 

Then  it  was  definitely  decided  that 
she  should  return  to  America.  It  was 
characteristic  of  her  that  she  had  no 
sooner  dried  her  eyes  after  the  decision 
than  she  was  restless  to  return  at  once. 
Duluth  was  no  drearier  than  Wands- 
worth;  externally  it  was  even  pictu- 
resque, with  the  blue  water  and  the 
sunshine,  and  the  streets  of  white 
chalets  rising  in  tiers  like  a  theatre. 
In  Duluth  the  residents  "  looked  down 
on  one  another,"  literally.  The  life  was 
appalling,  but  when  all  was  said,  was  it 
more  limited  than  Aunt  Lydia!  And 
if,  in  lieu  of  acting,  she  dared  aspire 
to  dramatic  authorship  —  the  thought 
stirred  her  occasionally  —  she  could 
85 


One  Man's  View 

work  as  well  in  Minnesota  as  in  Lon- 
don. Cheriton  had  remitted  the  amount 
of  her  passage,  and  suggested  that  she 
should  sail  in  a  week  or  two.  She  had 
not  received  the  draft  two  hours  when 
she  went  up  to  town,  and  booked  a 
berth  in  the  next  steamer. 

When  it  was  done,  she  posted  a  note 
to  Heriot,  acquainting  him  with  her 
intention.  His  visits  had  not  been  dis- 
continued, but  he  came  at  much  longer 
intervals  latterly,  and  she  could  not  go 
without  bidding  him  good-bye. 

She  sat  in  the  Lavender  Street  par- 
lour the  next  evening,  wondering  if  he 
would  come.  Almost  she  hoped  he 
would  not.  She  had  written,  and 
therefore  done  her  duty.  To  see  him 
under  the  circumstances,  she  felt,  would 
humiliate  her  cruelly.  She  remembered 
how  she  had  talked  to  him  twelve 
months  before  —  recalled  her  confi- 
dence, her  pictures  of  a  future  that  she 
was  never  to  know  now,  and  her  eyes 
86 


One  Man's  View 

smarted  afresh.  She  had  even  failed 
to  obtain  a  hearing!  "  What  a  fool, 
what  an  idiot  I  look!"  she  thought 
passionately. 

Tea  was  over,  but  the  maid-of-all- 
work  had  not  removed  the  things  ;  and 
when  Heriot  entered,  the  large  loaf  and 
the  numerous  knives,  which  are  held 
indispensable  to  afternoon  tea  in  Laven- 
der Street,  were  still  on  the  big  round 
table.  The  aspect  of  the  room  did  not 
strike  him  any  more.  He  was  familiar 
with  it,  like  the  view  of  the  kitchen 
when  the  front  door  had  been  opened, 
and  the  glimpse  of  clothes-line  in  the 
yard  beyond. 

"  May  I  come  in?  "  he  said.  "  Did 
you  expect  me?  " 

"  Lor,  it  's  Mr.  Heriot!  "  said  Mrs. 
Baines.  "  Fancy!  " 

She  told  the  servant  to  take  away 
the    teapot,   and    to    bring  in   another 
knife.     He  wondered  vaguely  what  he 
was  supposed  to  do  with  it. 
87 


One  Man's  View 

"I  thought  it  likely  you  'd  be  here," 
said  Mamie;  "  won't  you  sit  down?  " 

"  I  only  had  your  letter  this  morn- 
ing. So  you  are  going  away?  " 

"  I  am  going  away.  I  bow,  more  or 
less  gracefully,  to  the  inevitable." 

"  To  bow  gracefully  to  the  inevitable 
is  strong  evidence  of  the  histrionic 
gift,"  he  said. 

"  I  came,  I  saw,  I  was  conquered; 
please  do  n't  talk  about  it.  ...  It  was 
only  settled  yesterday.  I  sail  on  Sat- 
urday, you  know." 

"Yes,  you  wrote  me,"  murmured 
Heriot.  "  It  is  very  sudden  !  " 

"  I  am  crazy  to  do  something,  if  only 
to  confess  myself  beaten." 

"  May  I  offer  you  a  cup  o'  tea,  Mr. 
Heriot?"  asked  Mrs.  Baines. 

She  always  "  offered "  cups  of  tea, 
and  was  indebted  to  neighbors  for  their 
"  hospitality." 

He  thanked  her. 

"  You  will  miss  your  niece,"  he  said, 


One  Man's  View 

declining  a  place  at  the  round  table,  to 
which  she  had  moved  a  chair. 

"Yes,  I  'm  sure,"  she  answered.  "I 
say  it  's  a  pity  now  she  did  n't  go  with 
her  father  last  October.  .  .  .  Going 
in  a  vessel  by  herself,  oh,  dear !  I 
say  I  would  n't  have  got  accustomed 
to  having  her  with  me  if  she  'd  gone 
with  her  father;  though  that  's  neither 
here  nor  there." 

"  Yes,  I  think  you  may  believe  you 
will  be  missed,  Miss  Cheriton,"  he 
said. 

"  I  say  it  's  very  odd  she  could  n't 
be  an  actress  as  she  wanted,"  continued 
Mrs.  Baines.  "  Seems  so  unfortunate 
with  all  the  trouble  that  she  took.  But 
la!  my  dear,  we  can't  see  what  lies 
ahead  of  us,  and  perhaps  it  's  all  for 
the  best!  I  say,  perhaps  it  's  all  for 
the  best,  Mr.  Heriot,  eh?  Dear  Mamie 
may  be  meant  to  do  something  differ- 
ent— writing,  or  what  not;  it 's  not  for 
us  to  say." 

89 


One  Man's  View 

"  Have  you  been  writing  again?" 
asked  Heriot,  turning  to  the  girl. 

"  A  little,"  she  said  bitterly.  "  My 
vanity  dies  hard — and  Aunt  Lydia  has 
encouraged  me." 

Heriot  looked  a  reproach;  her  tone 
hurt  him,  though  he  understood  of  what 
it  was  the  outcome. 

"  I  should  be  glad  if  you  had  en- 
couragement," he  replied;  "  I  think 
you  need  it  now! " 

But  it  hurt  him,  also,  to  discuss  her 
pain  in  the  presence  of  the  intolerable 
third.  He  knew  that  if  he  remained 
to  supper  there  would  be  a  preparatory 
quarter  of  an  hour  in  which  he  was 
alone  with  her  ;  and  it  was  for  this 
quarter  of  an  hour  that  he  hungered, 
conscious  that  during  the  opening  of 
the  lobster-tin  two  destinies  would  be 
determined. 

"  That  's  right,  Mr.  Heriot,"  said 
Mrs.  Baines  placidly.  "  I  'm  glad  to 
hear  you  say  so.  That  's  what  I  've 
90 


One  Man's  View 

been  telling  her.  I  say  she  must  n't 
be  disheartened.  Why,  it 's  surprising, 
I  'm  sure,  how  much  seems  to  be 
thought  of  people  who  write  stories 
and  things  nowadays;  they  seem  to 
make  quite  a  fuss  of  them,  do  n't  they? 
And  I  'm  certain  dear  Mamie  could 
write  if  she  put  her  mind  to  it.  I  was 
reading  in  the  paper,  Tit-Bits,  only  last 
week,  that  there  was  a  book  called 
Robert  Ellis,  or  some  such  name,  that 
made  the  author  quite  talked  about. 
Now,  I  read  the  piece  out  to  you,  dear, 
did  n't  I?  A  book  about  religion,  it 
was,  by  a  lady;  and  I  'm  sure  dear 
Mamie  knows  as  much  about  religion 
as  any  one." 

"  My  aunt  means  Robert  Elsmere" 
said  Mamie,  in  a  laboured  voice.  "You 
may  have  heard  it  mentioned  ?  " 

"You  must  n't  expect  Mr.  Heriot  to 

know  much  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Baines; 

"  Mr.  Heriot  is  so  busy  a  gentleman 

that  very  likely  he   does  n't    hear  of 

91 


One  Man's  View 

these  things.  But  I  assure  you,  Mr. 
Heriot,  the  story  seems  to  have  been 
read  a  great  deal;  and  what  I  say  is,  if 
dear  Mamie  can't  be  an  actress,  why 
should  n't  she  write  books,  if  she  wants 
to  do  something  of  the  sort?  I  wonder 
my  brother  did  n't  teach  her  to  paint, 
with  her  notions  and  that — but  not 
having  learnt,  I  say  she  ought  to  write 
books.  That  's  the  thing  for  her — a 
nice  pen  and  ink,  and  her  own  home!  " 

"  I  agree  with  you,  Mrs.  Baines. 
If  she  wants  to  write,  she  can  do  that 
in  her  own  home." 

"  Not  to  compare  it  with  such  a 
profession  as  yours,  Mr.  Heriot,"  she 
said,  "  which,  of  course,  is  sensible  and 
grave.  But  girls  can't  be  barristers, 
and—" 

"Will  you  open  the  window  for 
me?  "  exclaimed  Mamie;  "it's  fright- 
fully warm,  do  n't  you  think  so?  " 

She  stood  there  with  her  head  thrown 


One  Man's  View 

back,  and  closed  eyes,  her  foot  tapping 
the  floor  restlessly. 

"  Are  you  wishing  you  had  n't 
come?"  she  asked  under  her  breath. 

"Why?" 

"  One  must  suffer  to  be  polite  here." 

"Are  n't  you  a  little  unjust?"  said 
Heriot  deprecatingly. 

"You  have  it  for  an  hour,"  she  mut- 
tered ;  "/  have  had  it  for  twelve 
months.  Have  you  ever  wanted  to 
shriek?  /  wanted  to  shriek  just  now, 
violently  ! " 

"I  know  you  did,"  he  said.  "Well, 
it 's  nearly  over.  .  .  .  Are  you  glad?  " 

"  Yes,  and  no  —  I  can't  say.     If — " 

"  Won't  you  go  on?  " 

"  If  I  dared  hope  to  do  anything 
else.  But  I  'm  not  going  to  talk  like 
that  any  more  ;  I  'm  ridiculous  enough 
already!  " 

"  To  whom  are  you  ridiculous?  " 

"To  my  own  perception;  you  !  " 


93 


One  Man's  View 

"  Not  to  me,"  he  said. 

"  '  Pathetic  '?  yes,  to  you  I  'm  '  pa- 
thetic.' You  pity  me  as  you  might 
pity  a  lunatic  who  imagined  she  was 
the  Queen  of  England." 

"  I  think  you  know,"  said  Heriot 
diffidently,  "  that  neither  Her  Majesty 
nor  a  lunatic  inspires  quite  the  feeling 
in  me  that  I  have  for  yourself." 

She  changed  her  position,  and  spoke 
at  random: 

"  This  street  is  awfully  stupid,  is  n't 
it? "  she  said.  "  Look  at  that  man 
going  up  the  steps  !  " 

"  Yes,  he  is  very  stupid,  I  daresay. 
What  of  it?  " 

"  He  is  a  clerk,"  she  said  ;  "  and 
wheels  his  babies  out  on  Sunday." 

"  Mamie  ! " 

"  Come  and  talk  to  Aunt  Lydia 
again.  How  rude  we  are  ! " 

"  I    want   to   talk   to  you"    he  de- 
murred.    "  Are  n't  you  going  to   ask 
me  to  stay  to  supper?  " 
94 


One  Man's  View 

The  suggestion  came  from  the  widow 
almost  at  the  same  moment. 

"  I  think  we  had  better  have  the 
lamp,"  she  went  on.  "The  days  are 
drawing  in  fast,  Mr.  Heriot,  are  n't 
they?  We  shall  soon  have  winter 
again  !  Do  you  like  the  long  even- 
ings, or  the  long  afternoons  best?  Just 
about  now  I  always  say  that  I  can't 
bear  to  think  of  having  to  begin  light- 
ing up  at  five  or  six  o'clock  —  it  seems 
so  unnatural;  and  then,  next  summer, 
somehow  I  feel  quite  lost,  not  being 
able  to  let  down  the  blinds,  and  light 
the  lamp  for  tea.  Mamie,  dear,  shut 
the  window,  and  let  down  the  blinds 
before  I  light  the  lamp  —  somebody 
might  see  in  ! "  She  hinted  at  this 
danger  in  the  same  tone  in  which  she 
might  have  suggested  a  burglary. 

Under  a  glass  shade  a  laggard  clock 

ticked  drearily  towards  the  crisis,  and 

Heriot    provoked    its   history   by   the 

eagerness  with  which  he  looked  to  see 

95 


One  Man's  View 

the  time.  It  had  been  a  wedding- 
present  from  "poor  dear  Edward's 
brother";  and  only  one  clockmaker 
had  really  understood  it.  The  man 
had  died,  and  since  then  — 

He  listened,  praying  for  the  kitchen 
to  engulf  her. 

When  she  withdrew  at  last,  with  an 
apology  for  leaving  him,  he  rose,  and 
went  to  the  girl's  side. 

"  Do  you  know  why  I  came  this 
afternoon?"  he  said. 

She  did  know  —  had  known  it  in  the 
moment  that  he  opened  the  window 
for  her : 

"To  say  'good-bye*,''  she  mur- 
mured. 

"  I  came  to  beg  you  not  to  go ! 
Dearest,  what  do  you  relinquish  by 
marrying  me  now?  Not  the  stage  — 
your  hope  of  the  stage  is  over;  not 
your  ambition  in  itself  —  you  can  be 
ambitious  as  my  wife.  You  lose  noth- 


96 


One  Man's  View 

ing,  and  you  give  —  a  heaven.  Mamie, 
won't  you  stay?" 

She  leant  upon  the  mantelpiece  with- 
out speaking.  In  the  pause,  Mrs. 
Baines's  voice  reached  them  distinctly, 
as  she  said,  "  Put  the  brawn  on  a  smaller 
dish." 

"You  are  forgetting,"  answered  the 
girl  slowly;  "  there  was  another  reason 
besides  the  stage." 

"  It  is  you  who  Ve  forgotten;  I  told 
you  I  would  be  content.  ...  It  would 
not  be  repugnant  to  you?  " 

"  To  refuse  while  I  thought  I  had  a 
future;  and  to  say  'yes,'  now  — 
How  can  you  ask  me!  It  would  be  an 
insult  to  your  love." 

"  I  do  ask  you,"  he  urged;  "  I  im- 
plore!" 

"  You  implore  me  to  be  contempti- 
ble. You  would  have  a  disappointed 
woman  for  your  wife.  You  deserve 
something  better  than  that." 


97 


One  Man's  View 

"  Oh,  my  God,"  said  Heriot,  in  a  low 
voice,  "  if  I  could  only  tell  you  how  I 
ache  to  take  you  in  my  arms,  as  softly 
as  if  you  were  a  child!  If  I  could  tell 
you  what  it  is  to  me  to  know  that  you 
are  passing  out  of  my  life,  and  that  in 
two  days'  time  I  shall  never  see  you 
again!  .  .  .  Mamie! " 

The  heavy  shuffle  of  the  domestic 
was  heard  in  the  passage. 

"  Mamie!  "  he  repeated  desperately. 
"  It  will  be  worse  over  there." 

Her  eyes  were  big  with  perplexity 
and  doubt. 

"Mamie!" 

"  Are  you  sure  you  —  sure  —  " 

"I  love  you;  I  want  you.  Only 
trust  me!  .  .  .  Mamie?" 

"  If  you  're  quite  sure  you  wish  it," 
she  faltered, —  "yes!" 


CHAPTER  VI 

When  Heriot  informed  his  brother  of 
his  approaching  marriage,  Sir  Francis 
said,  "  I  never  offer  advice  to  a  man  on 
matters  of  this  sort";  and  proceeded 
to  advise.  He  considered  the  union 
undesirable,  and  used  the  word. 

Heriot  replied,  "  On  the  contrary,  I 
desire  it  extremely." 

"You  're  of  course  the  best  judge  of 
your  own  affairs.  I  will  only  say  that 
it  is  hardly  the  attachment  I  should 
have  expected  you  to  form.  It  appears 
to  me  —  if  I  may  employ  the  term  — 
romantic." 

"I  should  say,"  said  Heriot,  in  his 
most  impassive  manner,  "  that  that  is 
what   it  might  be  called.     Admitting 
the  element  of  romance,  what  of  it?  " 
99 


One  Man's  View 

"  We  are  not  boys,  George,"  said  Sir 
Francis.  He  added,  "  And  the  lady  is 
twenty-two!  The  father  is  an  hotel- 
keeper  in  the  United  States,  you  tell 
me,  and  the  aunt  lives  in  Wandsworth. 
Socially,  Wandsworth  is  farther  than 
the  United  States,  but  geographically  it 
is  close.  This  Mrs.  Payne  —  or  Baines 
—  is  not  a  connection  you  will  be  proud 
of,  I  take  it?  " 

"  I  shall  be  very  proud  of  my  wife," 
said  Heriot,  with  some  stiffness. 
"  There  are  more  pedigrees  than  happy 
marriages." 

The  baronet  looked  at  his  watch. 
"  As  I  have  said,  it 's  not  a  matter  that 
I  would  venture  to  advise  you  upon. 
Of  course,  I  congratulate  you.  We 
shall  see  Miss  Cheriton  at  '  Fairlawn,'  I 
hope?  And  —  er  —  Catherine  will  be 
delighted  to  make  her  acquaintance.  I 
have  to  meet  Phil  at  the  '  Piccadilly.' 
He  's  got  some  absurd  idea  of  exchan- 
ging —  wants  to  go  out  to  India,  and  see 


One  Man's  View 

active  service.  And  I  got  him  into 
the  Guards!  Boys  are  damned  un- 
grateful! .  .  .  When  do  you  marry?" 

"  Very  shorthly :  during  the  vacation; 
there  '11  be  no  fuss." 

Sir  Francis  told  his  wife  that  it  was 
very  "  lamentable,"  and  Lady  Heriot 
preferred  to  describe  it  as  "  disgust- 
ing." But  in  spite  of  adjectives  the 
ceremony  took  place. 

The  honeymoon  was  brief,  and  when 
the  bride  and  bridegroom  came  back 
to  town,  they  stayed  in  an  hotel  in 
Victoria  Street  while  they  sought  a 
flat.  Ultimately  they  decided  upon  one 
in  South  Kensington,  and  it  was  the 
man's  delight  to  render  this  as  exquisite 
as  taste  and  money  made  possible. 
The  furniture  for  his  study  had  simply 
to  be  transferred  from  his  bachelor 
quarters,  but  the  other  rooms  gave 
scope  for  a  hundred  consultations  and 
caprices,  and  he  enjoyed  the  moments 
like  a  lad  in  which  Mamie  and  he  bent 
101 


One  Man's  View 

their  heads  together  over  patterns  and 
designs.  She  would  have  been  more 
than  human,  and  less  than  lovable, 
if  in  those  early  weeks  her  disappoint- 
ment had  not  been  lost  sight  of  ;  more 
than  a  girl,  if  the  atmosphere  of  devo- 
tion in  which  she  moved  had  not 
persuaded  her  primarily  that  she  was 
content.  Only  after  the  installation 
was  effected,  and  the  long  days  while 
her  husband  was  away  were  no  longer 
occupied  by  the  upholsterers'  plans, 
did  the  earliest  returning  stir  of  recol- 
lection come;  only  as  she  wandered 
from  the  drawing-room  to  the  dining- 
room,  and  could  find  no  further  touches 
to  make,  did  she  first  sigh. 

A  gift  of  Heriot's  —  he  had  chosen 
it  without  her  knowledge,  and  it  had 
been  delivered  as  a  surprise  —  was  a 
writing-table;  a  writing-table  that  was 
not  merely  meant  to  be  a  costly  orna- 
ment, and  one  morning  she  sat  down 
to  it  and  began  another  attempt  to  pro- 

102 


One  Man's  View 

duce  a  play.  The  occupation  served 
to  interest  her,  and  now  the  days  were 
not  so  empty.  In  the  evening,  as 
often  as  he  was  able,  Heriot  took  her 
out  to  a  theatre,  or  a  concert,  or  to 
houses  from  which  invitations  com- 
menced to  arrive.  The  evenings  were 
enchantingly  new  to  her;  less  so,  per- 
haps, when  they  dined  at  the  solemn 
houses  than  when  a  hansom  deposited 
them  at  the  doors  of  a  restaurant,  and 
her  husband's  pocket  contained  the 
tickets  for  a  couple  of  stalls.  She  was 
conscious  that  she  owed  him  more  than 
she  could  ever  repay;  and  though  she 
had  casually  informed  him  that  she  had 
begun  a  drama,  she  did  not  discuss  the 
subject  with  him  at  any  length.  To 
dwell  upon  those  eternal  ambitions  of 
hers  was  to  remind  him  that  she  had 
said  she  would  be  dissatisfied,  and  he 
deserved  something  different  from  that; 
he  deserved  to  forget  it,  to  be  told  that 
she  had  not  an  ungratified  wish!  She 
103 


One  Man's  View 

felt  ungrateful   to   realize  that   such  a 
statement  would  be  an  exaggeration. 

In  the  November  following  the  wed- 
ding it  was  seen  that  "  Her  Majesty 
had  been  pleased,  on  the  recommenda- 
tion of  the  Lord  Chancellor,  to  approve 
the  name  of  George  Langdale  Heriot 
to  the  rank  of  Queen's  Counsel,"  and 
Heriot  soon  found  reason  to  congratu- 
late himself  on  his  step.  A  man  may 
earn  a  large  income  as  a  Junior,  and 
find  himself  in  receipt  of  a  very  poor 
one  as  a  Leader.  There  is  an  instance 
cited  in  the  Inns  of  Court  of  a  stuff- 
gownsman,  making  eight  thousand  a 
year,  whose  income  fell,  when  he  took 
silk,  to  three  hundred.  But  Heriot's 
practice  did  not  decline.  Few  men  at 
the  Bar  could  handle  a  jury  better, 
or  showed  better  address  in  their 
dealings  with  the  Bench.  He  knew 
instinctively  the  moment  when  that 
small  concession  was  advisable,  when 
the  attitude  of  uncompromising  rigour 


One  Man's  View 

would  be  fatal  to  his  case.  He  had  his 
tricks  in  court:  the  least  affected  of  men 
out  of  it,  in  court  he  had  his  tricks. 
Counsel  acquire  them  inevitably,  and 
one  of  Heriot's  had  been  a  favourite 
device  of  Ballantyne's:  in  cross-exam- 
ination he  looked  at  the  witness 
scarcely  at  all,  but  kept  his  face  turned 
to  the  jury-box.  Why  this  should  be 
persuasive  is  a  mystery  that  no  barrister 
can  explain,  but  its  effectiveness  is  un- 
deniable. Nevertheless,  he  was  essen- 
tially "sound."  As  he  had  been  known 
as  "  a  safe  man  "  while  a  Junior,  so  now 
that  he  had  taken  silk,  he  was  believed 
in  as  a  Leader.  The  figures  on  the 
briefs  swelled  enormously;  his  services 
were  more  and  more  in  demand.  Then 
by-and-by  there  was  a  criminal  case 
that  was  discussed  day  by  day  through- 
out the  length  and  breadth  of  the  king- 
dom—  in  drawing-rooms  and  back 
parlours,  in  clubs  and  suburban  trains, 
and  Heriot  was  for  the  defence.  The 


One  Man's  View 

Kensington  study  had  held  him  until 
dawn  during  weeks,  for  he  had  to  break 
down  medical  evidence.  And  on  the 
last  day  he  spoke  for  five  hours,  while 
the  reporters'  pens  flew  and  the  prisoner 
swayed  in  the  dock;  and  the  verdict 
returned  was,  "  Not  Guilty." 

When  he  unrobed  and  left  the  court, 
George  Heriot  walked  into  the  street 
the  man  of  the  hour;  and  he  drove 
home  to  Mamie,  who  kissed  him  as  she 
might  have  kissed  her  father. 

He  adored  his  wife,  and  his  wife  felt 
affection  for  him.  But  the  claims  of 
his  profession  left  her  to  her  own  re- 
sources; and  she  had  no  child. 


CHAPTER  VII 

When  they  had  been  married  three 
years  she  knew  many  hours  of  boredom. 
She  could  not  disguise  from  herself 
that  she  found  the  life  she  led  more 
and  more  unsatisfying;  that  luxury 
and  a  devoted  husband,  who  was  in 
court  during  the  day  and  often  in  his 
study  half  the  night,  were  not  all  that 
she  had  craved  for;  that  her  environ- 
ment was  Philistine,  depressing,  dull! 

And  she  lectured  herself,  and  said 
the  fault  was  her  own,  and  that  it  was  a 
very  much  better  environment  than  her 
abilities  entitled  her  to.  She  recited 
all  the  moral  precepts  that  a  third  per- 
son might  have  uttered,  and  the  dis- 
satisfaction remained. 

To  write  plays  ceases  to  be  an  at- 
107 


One  Man's  View 

tractive  occupation  when  they  are  never 
produced.  She  had  written  several 
plays  by  this  time,  and  submitted  them, 
more  or  less  judiciously,  to  several 
West  End  theatres.  There  had  even 
been  an  instance  of  a  manager  return- 
ing a  manuscript  in  response  to  her 
fourth  application  for  it.  But  she  was 
no  nearer  to  success,  or  to  an  artistic 
circle. 

A  career  at  the  Bar  is  not  all  causes 
cttebres,  and  the  details  of  Heriot's 
briefs  were  rarely  enthralling  to  her 
mind,  even  when  he  discussed  them 
with  her;  and  when  he  came  into  the 
drawing-room  he  did  not  want  to  dis- 
cuss his  briefs.  He  wanted  to  talk 
trifles,  just  as  he  preferred  to  see  a 
musical  comedy  or  a  farce  when  they 
went  out.  Nor  did  he  press  her  for 
particulars  of  her  own  pursuits  during 
his  absence.  She  never  sighed  over 
him,  and  he  read  her  display  of  cheer- 
fulness as  true  contentment.  That  such 
108 


One  Man's  View 

allusions  to  her  literary  work  as  she 
made  were  careless,  he  took  to  mean 
that  she  had  gradually  acquired  staider 
views.  Once  he  perceived  that  it  was 
perhaps  quieter  for  her  than  for  most 
women,  for  she  had  no  intimate  ac- 
quaintances; but  then  she  had  never 
been  used  to  any!  There  were  her 
books,  and  her  music,  and  her  shop- 
ping—  no,  he  did  not  think  she  could 
be  hipped.  Besides,  her  manner  at 
dinner  was  always  direct  evidence  to 
the  contrary. 

She  was  now  twenty-five  years  old, 
and  the  Kensington  flat  and  abundant 
means  had  lost  their  novelty.  She  was 
never  moved  by  a  clever  novel  without 
detesting  her  own  obscurity;  never 
looked  in  the  window  of  the  stereo- 
scopic company  without  a  passion  of 
envy  for  the  successful  artists;  never 
accompanied  Heriot  to  the  solemn 
houses  without  yearning  for  the  entree 
.to  upper  Bohemia  instead.  She  was 
109 


One  Man's  View 

twenty-five  years  old,  and  marriage, 
without  having  fulfilled  the  demands  of 
her  temperament,  had  developed  her 
sensibilities.  It  was  at  this  period  that 
she  met  Lucas  Field. 

If  her  existence  had  been  a  story, 
nothing  could  have  surprised  her  less 
than  such  a  meeting.  It  would  have 
been  at  this  juncture  precisely  that  she 
looked  for  the  arrival  of  an  artist,  and 
"Lucas  Field"  would  probably  have 
been  a  brilliant  young  man  who  wore 
his  hair  long,  and  published  decadent 
verse.  The  trite  in  fiction  is  often  very 
astonishing  in  one's  own  life,  how- 
ever, and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  she  found 
their  introduction  an  event,  and  fore- 
saw nothing  at  all. 

Lucas  Field  was  naturally  well  known 
*o  her  by  reputation — so  well  known 
that  when  the  hostess  brought  "  Mr. 
Field "  across  to  her,  Mamie  never 
dreamed  of  identifying  him  with  the 
dramatist.  She  had  long  since  ceased 
no 


One  Man's  View 

to  expect  to  meet  anybody  congenial 
at  these  parties,  and  the  fish  had  been 
reached  before  she  discovered  who  it 
really  was  who  had  taken  her  down. 
Field  was  a  trifle  bored  himself.  He 
had  not  been  bred  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
footlights, — his  father  had  been  a  phy- 
sician, and  his  mother  the  daughter  of 
a  Lincolnshire  parson, —  but  he  had 
drifted  into  dramatic  literature  when 
he  came  down  from  Oxford,  and  the 
atmosphere  of  the  artistic  world  had 
become  essential  to  him  by  now.  Port- 
man  Square,  though  he  admitted  its 
desirability,  and  would  have  been  mor- 
tified if  it  had  been  denied  to  him,  in- 
variably oppressed  him  a  shade  when 
he  entered  it.  He  was  at  the  present 
time  foretasting  hell  in  the  fruitless  en- 
deavour to  devise  a  scenario  for  his  next 
play,  and  he  had  looked  at  Mamie  with 
a  little  interest  as  he  was  conducted 
across  the  drawing-room.  A  beautiful 
woman  has  always  an  air  of  suggestion; 
in 


One  Man's  View 

she  is  a  beginning,  but  she  does  not 
advance.  She  is  a  heroine  without  a 
plot.  Regarded  from  the  easel  she  is 
all-sufficing;  contemplated  from  the 
desk,  she  is  illusive.  After  you  have 
admired  the  tendrils  of  hair  at  the  nape 
of  her  neck,  you  realize  with  despon- 
dence that  she  takes  you  no  farther 
than  if  she  had  been  plain. 

Field  had  realized  that  she  left  him 
in  the  lurch  before  his  soup-plate  had 
been  removed.  Presently  he  inquired 
if  she  was  fond  of  the  theatre. 

"Please  do  n't  say  '  yes'  from  polite- 
ness," he  added. 

"Why  should  I?" 

She  had  gathered  the  reason  in  the 
next  moment,  and  her  eyes  lit  with 
eagerness.  He  had  a  momentary  terror 
that  she  was  going  to  be  commonplace. 

"  I  could  n't  dream  that  it  was  you — 
here!  "  she  said  apologetically. 

"  Is  n't  a  poor  playwright  respect- 
able?" he  asked. 

112 


One  Man's  View 

There  was  an  instant  in  which  she 
felt  that  in  her  answer  depended  the 
justification  of  her  soul.  She  said 
afterwards  that  she  could  have  "  fallen 
round  an  epigram's  neck." 

"  I  should  think  the  poor  playwright 
must  be  very  dull! "  she  replied. 

This  was  adequate,  however,  and 
better  than  his  own  response,  which 
was  of  necessity  conventional. 

"  I  have  seen  your  new  comedy,"  she 
continued. 

"  I  hope  it  pleased  you  ?  " 

"  I  admired  it  immensely,  like  every 
one  else.  It  is  a  great  success,  is  n't 
it?" 

"  The  theatre  is  very  full  every 
night,"  he  said  deprecatingly. 

"  Then  it  is  a.  success  !  " 

"  Does  that  follow  ?" 

"  You  are  not  satisfied  with  it?     It 
falls    short    of    what   you   meant?     I 
should  n't    have     supposed    that;      it 
seemed  to  me  entirely  clear!  " 
"3 


One  Man's  View 

"That  I  had  a  theory?  Really! 
Perhaps  I  have  not  failed  so  badly  as  I 
thought."  He  did  not  think  he  had 
failed  at  all,  but  this  sort  of  thing  was 
his  innocent  weakness. 

"  Miss  Millington  is  almost  perfect 
as  '  Daisy,'  is  she  not  ?  " 

"'Almost'?  Where  do  you  find 
her  weak?  " 

She  blushed. 

"She struck  me — of  course  I  am  no 
authority  —  as  not  quite  fulfilling  your 
idea  in  the  first  Act — when  she  ac- 
cepted the  captain.  I  thought  perhaps 
she  was  too  responsible  there  —  too 
grown  up." 

"  There  is  n't  a  woman  in  London 
who  could  play  '  Daisy,'  "  said  Field 
savagely.  "  In  other  words,  you  think 
she  wrecked  the  piece  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed  !  " 

"  If  '  Daisy '  is  n't  a  child  when  she 
marries,  the  play  has  no  meaning,  no 
sense.  That  is  why  the  character  was 
114 


One  Man's  View 

so  difficult  to  cast  —  in  the  first  Act  she 
must  be  a  school-girl,  and  in  the  others 
an  emotional  woman." 

"  Perhaps  I  said  too  much." 

"  You  are  a  critic,  Mrs.  Heriot." 

"Oh,  merely — " 

"Merely?" 

"  Merely  very  interested  by  the 
stage." 

"  To  be  interested  by  the  stage  is 
very  ordinary,"  he  said;  "  to  be  a  judge 
of  -it  is  rather  rare.  No,  you  did  n't 
say  too  much  :  Miss  Millington  doesn't 
fulfil  my  idea  when  she  accepts  'Cap- 
tain Arminger.'  And  to  be  frank,  7 
have  n't  fulfilled  Miss  Millington's  idea 
of  a  consistent  part." 

"  I  can  understand,"  said  Mamie, 
"  that  it  is  the  great  drawback  to  writ- 
ing for  the  stage,  that  one  depends  so 
largely  on  one's  interpreters.  A  novel- 
ist succeeds  or  fails  by  himself,  but  a 
dramatist  —  " 

"  A  dramatist  is  the  most  miserable 
"5 


One  Man's  View 

of  created   beings,"  said  Field,  "  if  he 
happens  to  be  an  artist." 

"  I  can  hardly  credit  that!  I  can't 
credit  anybody  being  miserable  who  is 
an  artist."  (He  laughed.  It  was  not 
polite,  but  he  couldn't  help  it.) 
"  Though  I  can  understand  his  having 
moods  of  the  most  frightful  depres- 
sion," she  added. 

"  Oh,  you  can  understand  that?  " 

"  Quite.  Would  he  be  an  artist  if  he 
did  n't  have  them!  " 

"  May  I  ask  if  you  write  yourself  ?  " 

"N  —  no,"  she  murmured. 

"  Does  that  mean  '  yes  '?  " 

"  It  means  '  only  for  my  own  amuse- 
ment'!" 

"  The  writer  who  only  writes  for  his 
own  amusement  is  mythical,  I  'm 
afraid,"  said  Field.  "  One  often  hears 
of  him,  but  he  does  n't  bear  investiga- 
tion. You  do  n't  write  plays?  " 

«  No  —  I  try  to!" 

He  regarded  her  a  little  cynically. 
116 


One  Man's  View 

"  I  thought  ladies  always  wrote  nov- 
els?" 

"  I  wish  to  be  original,  you  see." 

"  Do  you  send  them  anywhere?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  send  them;  I  suppose  I 
always  shall." 

"You're  really  in  earnest  then? 
You  're  not  discouraged?  " 

"  I  'm  very  earnest,  and  very  dis- 
couraged, too.  ...  Is  it  impertinent 
to  ask  if  you  had  such  experiences  as 
mine  when  you  were  younger?  " 

"  I  wrote  plays  for  ten  years  before 
I  ever  passed  through  a  stage-door  — 
one  must  expect  to  work  for  years  be- 
fore one  is  produced!  ...  Of  course, 
one  may  work  all  one's  life,  and  not  be 
produced  then!  " 

"  It  depends  how  clever  one  is,  or 
whether  one  is  clever  at  all?  " 

"  It  depends  on  a  good  many  things. 
It  depends  sometimes  on  advice." 

If  she  had  been  less  lovely,  he  would 
not  have  said  this,  and  he  knew  it;  if 
117 


One  Man's  View 

she  had  not  been  Mrs.  Heriot,  he  would 
not  have  said  it  either.  The  average 
woman  who  "wants  a  literary  man's 
advice "  is  the  bane  of  his  existence, 
and  Field  had  not  only  no  sympathy 
with  the  tyro  as  a  rule,  but  was  inclined 
to  disparage  the  majority  of  his  col- 
leagues. He  was  clever,  and  was  aware 
of  it ;  he  occupied  a  prominent  posi- 
tion. He  had  arrived  at  the  point  when 
he  could  dare  to  be  psychological.  "  It 
depends  sometimes  on  advice,"  he  said; 
and  the  wife  of  George  Heriot,  Q.  C., 
murmured  :  "  Unfortunately,  I  have  no- 
body to  advise  me!  " 

Even  as  it  was  he  regretted  it  when 
he  took  his  leave;  and  the  manuscript 
that  he  had  offered  to  read  lay  in  his 
study  for  three  weeks  before  he  opened 
it.  He  picked  it  up  one  night,  remem- 
bering that  the  writer  had  been  very 
beautiful.  The  perusal  inspired  him 
with  the  desire  to  see  her  again.  That 
the  play  was  full  of  faults  goes  without 
118 


One  Man's  View 

saying,  but  it  was  unconventional,  and 
there  was  character  in  it.  He  recol- 
lected that  she  had  interested  him  while 
they  talked  after  dinner  at  the  foot  of 
the  grand  piano;  and,  since  her  work 
was  promising,  he  wrote,  volunteering 
to  point  out  in  an  interview,  if  she 
liked,  those  errors  in  technique  which 
it  would  take  too  long  to  explain  by 
letter.  It  cannot  be  made  too  clear 
that  if  she  had  sent  him  a  work  of 
genius  and  she  had  been  plain  Miss 
Smith  in  a  home-made  blouse,  he 
would  have  done  nothing  of  the  sort. 
He  called  upon  her  with  no  idea  that 
his  hints  would  make  a  dramatist  of 
her  eventually;  nor  did  he  care  in  the 
slightest  degree  whether  they  did  or 
did  not.  She  was  a  singularly  lovely 
woman,  and  as  her  drama  had  not  been 
stupid  —  stupidity  would  have  repelled 
him  —  he  thought  a  tete-a-tete  with  her 
would  be  agreeable. 

To  Mamie  he  was  as  all  the  Muses 
119 


One  Man's  View 

in  one,  however,  and  the  afternoon  on 
which  he  sat  like  an  ordinary  mortal 
sipping  tea  in  her  flat  was  the  day  of 
her  life.  She  told  him  she  had  once 
hoped  to  be  an  actress,  and  believed 
that  the  avowal  would  advance  her  in 
his  esteem.  He  answered  that  he 
should  not  be  astonished  if  she  had  the 
histrionic  gift;  and  was  inwardly  disen- 
chanted a  shade  by  what  he  felt  to  be 
banal.  Then  they  discussed  his  own 
work,  and  he  found  her  appreciation 
remarkably  intelligent.  To  talk  about 
one's  self  to  a  woman,  who  listens  with 
exquisite  eyes  fixed  upon  one's  face,  is 
very  gratifying  to  a  literary  man.  If 
one  is  mediocre,  she  makes  one  feel 
clever;  and  if  one  have  talent,  one  feels 
greater  still.  Field  had  rarely  spent  a 
pleasanter  hour.  It  is  not  intimated 
that  he  was  a  vain  puppy  —  he  was  not 
a  puppy  at  all.  He  had  half  uncon- 
sciously felt  the  want  of  a  sympathetic 
confidant  for  a  long  while,  though,  and 


One  Man's  View 

albeit  he  did  not  instantaneously  realize 
that  Mrs.  Heriot  supplied  the  void,  he 
walked  back  to  his  chambers  with  ex- 
hilaration. 

He  realized  it  by  degrees.  He  had 
never  married.  He  had  avoided  mat- 
rimony till  he  was  thirty  because  he 
liked  his  freedom;  and  during  the  last 
decade  he  had  escaped  it  because  he 
had  not  met  a  woman  whom  he  desired 
sufficiently  to  make  his  wife.  When  he 
had  seen  Mamie  several  times  —  and 
under  the  circumstances  it  was  not  diffi- 
cult to  invent  reasons  for  seeing  her — 
he  wondered  whether  he  would  not  have 
proposed  to  her  if  she  had  been  single. 

Heriot  was  very  pleased  to  have  him 
dine  with  them;  and  he  was  not  igno- 
rant that  during  the  next  few  months 
Field  often  dropped  in  about  five 
o'clock.  Mamie  concealed  nothing  — 
knowingly  —  and  the  subject  of  her 
writing  was  revived  now.  She  told 
George  that  Mr.  Field  thought  she  had 

121 


One  Man's  View 

ability.  She  repeated  his  criticisms; 
frankly  admired  his  talent;  confessed 
that  she  was  proud  to  have  him  on  her 
visiting-list;  and  fell  in  love  with  him 
without  either  analysing  her  feelings  or 
perceiving  her  risk. 

And  while  Mrs.  Heriot  fell  in  love 
with  him,  Lucas  Field  was  not  blind. 
He  saw  a  great  deal  more  than  she  saw 
herself — he  saw,  not  only  the  influence 
he  exercised  over  her,  but  that  she  had 
been  moped  before  he  appeared.  He 
did  not  misread  her;  he  was  conscious 
that  she  would  never  take  a  lover  from 
caprice  —  that  she  was  the  last  woman 
in  the  world  to  sin  lightly  and  in  secret. 
He  saw  that,  if  he  yielded  to  the  temp- 
tation that  had  begun  to  assail  him,  he 
must  be  prepared  to  ask  her  to  live 
with  him  openly.  But  he  asked  him- 
self if  it  was  quite  impossible  he  could 
prevail  on  her  to  do  that,  if  he  had  the 
mind  to  do  so  —  whether  she  was  so  im- 
pregnable as  she  believed. 

122 


One  Man's  View 

He  was  by  this  time  fascinated  by 
her.  His  happiest  afternoons  were 
spent  in  South  Kensington,  advancing 
his  theories,  and  reciting  his  latest 
scenes;  nor  was  it  a  lie  when  he  averred 
that  she  assisted  him.  To  be  an  artist 
it  is  not  necessary  to  be  able  to  pro- 
duce, and  if  her  own  attempts  had 
been  infinitely  more  futile  than  they 
were,  she  might  still  have  expressed 
opinions  that  were  of  service  to  an- 
other. Many  of  her  views  were  im- 
practicable, naturally.  Psychological 
as  his  tendencies  were,  he  was  a  dra- 
matist; and  he  could  not  snap  his  fingers 
at  the  laws  imposed  by  the  footlights, 
though  he  might  affect  to  deride  them 
in  his  confidences.  The  only  dramatist 
alive  was  Ibsen,  he  said;  yet  he  did  not 
model  himself  on  Ibsen,  albeit  he  was 
delighted  when  she  exclaimed,  "  How 
Ibsenish  that  is!"  Many  of  her  views 
were  impracticable,  because  she  was 
ignorant  about  the  stage;  but  many 
"3 


One  Man's  View 

were  intensely  stimulating.  The  more 
he  was  with  her,  the  less  he  doubted 
that  she  was  worthy  of  sinning  for  his 
sake.  He  was  so  different  from  the 
ordinary  dramatic  author.  On  the  ordi- 
nary dramatic  author,  with  no  ideas  be- 
yond "  curtains  "  and  "  fees,"  she  would 
have  been  thrown  away.  He  did  not 
wish  to  be  associated  with  a  scandal  — 
it  would  certainly  be  unpleasant  —  but 
she  dominated  him,  there  was  no  dis- 
guising the  fact.  And  he  would  be 
very  good  to  her;  he  would  marry  her. 
She  was  adorable! 

His  meditations  had  not  progressed 
so  far  without  the  girl's  eyes  being 
opened  to  her  weakness;  and  now  she 
hated  herself  more  bitterly  than  she 
had  hated  the  tedium  of  her  life.  She 
knew  that  she  loved  him.  She  was 
wretched  when  he  was  not  with  her, 
and  ashamed  when  he  was  there.  She 
wandered  about  the  flat  in  her  solitude, 
frightened  as  she  realized  what  an  awful 
124 


One  Man's  View 

thing  had  come  to  her.  But  she  was 
drunk  —  intoxicated  by  the  force  of  the 
guilty  love,  and  by  the  thought  that 
such  a  man  as  Lucas  Field  could  be  in 
love  with  her.  She  revered  him  for  not 
having  told  her  of  the  feelings  she  in- 
spired; her  courage  was  sustained  bv 
the  belief  that  he  did  not  divine  her 
own;  that  she  would  succeed  in  stamp- 
ing them  out  without  his  ever  having 
dreamed  of  the  danger  she  had  run.  Yet 
she  was  "drunk";  and  one  afternoon 
the  climax  was  reached  —  he  implored 
her  to  go  away  with  him! 


CHAPTER  VIII 

If  a  woman  sins,  and  the  chronicler 
of  her  sin  desires  to  excuse  the  woman, 
her  throes  and  her  struggles,  her  pangs 
and  her  prayers,  always  occupy  at  least 
three  chapters.  If  one  does  not  seek 
to  excuse  her,  the  fact  of  her  fall  may 
as  well  be  stated  in  the  fewest  possible 
words.  Mamie  did  struggle  —  she  strug- 
gled for  a  long  time  —  but  in  the  end 
she  was  just  as  guilty  as  if  she  had  n't 
shed  a  tear.  Field's  pertinacity  and 
passion  wore  her  resistance  out  at  last. 
Theirs  was  to  be  the  ideal  union,  and 
of  course  he  cited  famous  cases  where 
the  man  and  woman  designed  for  each 
other  by  Heaven  had  only  met  after 
one  of  them  had  blundered.  He  did 
not  explain  why  Heaven  had  permitted 
126 


One  Man's  View 

the  blunders,  after  being  at  the  pains 
to  design  kindred  souls  for  one  another's 
ecstasy;  but  there  are  things  that  even 
the  youngest  curate  cannot  explain. 
He  insisted  that  she  would  never  regret 
her  step;  he  declared  that,  with  himself 
for  her  husband,  she  would  become 
celebrated.  Art,  love,  joy,  all  might 
be  hers  at  a  word.  And  she  spoke  it. 

When  Heriot  came  in  one  evening, 
Mamie  was  not  visible,  and  he  won- 
dered what  had  become  of  her,  for  at 
this  hour  she  was  always  at  home. 
But  he  had  not  a  suspicion  of  evil — he 
was  as  far  from  being  prepared  for  the 
blow  that  was  in  store  as  if  Field  had 
never  crossed  their  path.  He  had  let 
himself  in  with  his  latchkey,  and  after  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  it  occurred  to  him 
that  she  might  be  already  in  the  dining- 
room.  When  he  entered  it  he  noted 
with  surprise  that  the  table  was  only 
laid  for  one. 

"Where  is  Mrs.  Heriot?"  he  said, 
127 


One  Man's  View 

when  the  servant  appeared  in  response 
to  his  ring. 

"Mrs.  Heriot  has  gone  out  of  town, 
sir." 

"  Out  of  town! "  he  exclaimed. 
"What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Mrs.  Heriot  left  a  note  for  you,  sir, 
to  explain.  There  it  is,  sir." 

Heriot  took  it  from  the  mantelpiece 
quickly;  but  still  he  had  no  suspicion 
—  not  an  inkling  of  the  truth.  He  tore 
the  envelope  open  and  read  the  enclo- 
sure, while  the  maid  waited  respect- 
fully by  the  door. 

"Your  mistress  has  been  called 
away,"  he  said  when  he  had  finished; 
"  illness!  She  will  be  gone  some  time." 

His  back  was  to  her;  he  could  com- 
mand his  voice,  but  his  face  was  beyond 
his  control.  He  felt  that  if  he  moved 
he  would  reel,  perhaps  fall.  He  stood 
motionless,  with  the  letter  open  in  his 
hand. 

"  Shall  I  serve  dinner,  sir?  " 
128 


One  Man's  View 

"  Yes,  serve  dinner,  Odell;  I  'm  quite 
ready." 

It  was  his  opportunity  to  gain  the 
chair  when  the  door  closed,  and  he 
walked  towards  it  slowly,  like  a  blind 
man.  The  letter  that  he  held  had  left 
but  one  hope  possible  —  the  last  hope 
of  despair — to  keep  the  matter  from 
the  servants'  knowledge  for  a  while. 
As  yet  he  was  not  suffering  acutely; 
indeed,  in  these  early  moments,  the 
effect  of  the  shock  was  more  physical 
than  mental.  There  was  a  trembling 
through  his  body,  and  his  head  felt 
queerly  light  —  empty,  not  his  own. 

The  maid  came  back,  and  he  forced 
himself  to  dine.  The  first  spoonfuls  of 
the  soup  he  took  were  but  heat  —  entirely 
tasteless  —  to  his  mouth,  and  at  the  pit 
of  his  stomach  a  sensation  of  sickness 
rose  and  writhed  like  something  living. 
When  she  retired  once  more  his  head 
fell  forward  on  his  arms;  it  was  a  re- 
lief to  rest  it  so  in  the  seconds  in  which 
129 


One  Man's  View 

her  vigilance  was  removed.  He  did 
not  know  how  he  could  support  the 
strain  of  the  long  ordeal! 

By  degrees  his  stupor  began  to  pass 
as  he  stared  at  the  vacant  place  where 
his  wife  should  have  sat;  the  dazed 
brain  rallied  to  comprehension.  His 
wife  was  not  there  because  she  was 
with  her  lover!  Oh,  God!  with  her 
"  lover  " —  Mamie  had  given  herself  to 
another  man!  Mamie!  Mamie  had 
gone  to  another  man!  His  face  was 
grey  and  distorted  now,  and  the  glass 
that  he  was  lifting  snapped  at  the  stem. 
She  had  gone.  She  was  no  longer  his 
wife!  She  was  guilty,  shameless,  de- 
filed—  Mamie! 

He  rose,  an  older,  a  less  vigorous, 
figure. 

"  I  shall  be  busy  to-night,"  he  mut- 
tered; "  do  n't  let  me  be  disturbed." 

He  went  to  his  study,  and  dropped 
upon  the  seat  before  his  desk.  Her 
photograph  confronted  him,  and  he 
130 


One  Man's  View 

took  it  down,  and  held  it  shakenly. 
How  young  she  looked!  was  there  ever 
a  face  more  pure!  And  Heaven  knew 
that  he  had  loved  her  as  dearly  only  an 
hour  ago  as  on  the  day  that  they  were 
married!  Not  a  whim  of  hers  had 
been  refused;  not  a  request  could  he 
recollect  that  he  had  failed  to  obey. 
Yet  now  she  was  with  a  lover!  She 
smiled  in  the  likeness;  the  eyes 'that 
met  his  own  were  clear  and  tender; 
truth  was  stamped  upon  her  features. 
He  recalled  incidents  of  the  past  three 
years,  incidents  that  had  been  rich  in 
the  intimacy  of  their  life.  Surely  in 
those  hours  she  had  loved  him?  That 
had  not  been  gratitude  —  a  sense  of 
duty  merely? — had  she  not  loved  him 
then?  He  remembered  their  wedding- 
day.  How  pale  she  had  been,  how 
innocent — a  child.  Yet  now  she  was 
with  a  lover!  A  sob  convulsed  him, 
and  he  nodded  slowly  at  the  likeness 
through  his  tears.  Presently  he  put  it 


One  Man's  View 

back;  he  was  angered  at  his  weakness. 
He  had  deserved  something  better  at 
her  hands!  Pride  forbade  that  he 
should  mourn  for  her!  He  had  married 
wildly,  yes,  he  should  have  listened  to 
advice;  Francis  had  warned  him.  Per- 
haps while  he  wept  they  were  laughing 
at  him  together,  she  and  Field!  How 
did  he  know  it  was  Field  —  had  she 
mentioned  his  name  in  the  letter?  He 
knew  that  it  was  Field  instinctively;  he 
marvelled  that  he  had  not  foreseen  the 
danger,  and  averted  it.  How  stupid 
had  the  petitioners  in  divorce  suits 
often  appeared  to  him  in  his  time!  — 
he  had  wondered  that  men  could  be  so 
purblind  —  and  he  himself  had  been  as 
dense  as  any!  .  .  .  But  she  would  not 
laugh!  Ah,  guilty  as  she  was,  she  would 
not  laugh  —  she  was  not  so  vile  as  that! 
The  clock  in  the  room  struck  one.  He 
heard  it  half  unconsciously  —  then 
started,  and  threw  out  his  arms  with  a 
hoarse  cry.  He  sprang  to  his  feet, 
132 


One  Man's  View 

fired  with  the  tortures  of  the  damned. 
The  sweat  burst  out  on  him,  and  the 
veins  in  his  forehead  swelled  like  cords. 
He  was  a  temperate  man,  at  once  by 
taste  and  by  necessity,  but  now  he 
walked  to  where  the  brandy  was  kept, 
and  drank  a  wineglassful  at  a  gulp. 
"  Mamie!  "  he  groaned  again.  "  Ma- 
mie!" The  brandy  did  not  blot  the 
picture  from  his  brain;  and  he  refilled  the 
glass.  Nothing  would  efface  the  picture ! 
He  knew  that  it  was  hopeless  to  at- 
tempt to  sleep,  yet  he  went  to  the  bed- 
room. The  ivory  brushes  were  gone 
from  the  toilet-table  —  she  had  been 
able  to  think  of  brushes!  In  the  ward- 
robe the  frocks  were  fewer,  and  the 
linen  was  less;  the  jewelry  that  he  had 
given  to  her  had  been  left  behind.  All 
was  orderly.  There  were  no  traces  of 
a  hurried  departure;  the  room  had  its 
usual  aspect.  He  looked  at  the  pil- 
lows. Against  the  one  that  had  been 
hers  lay  the  bag  of  silk  and  lace  that 
'33 


One  Man's  View 

contained  her  nightdress.  Had  she 
forgotten  it?  or  was  it  that  she  had 
been  incapable  of  transferring  that? 
He  picked  it  up  and  dropped  it  out  of 
sight  in  one  of  the  drawers. 

He  did  not  go  to  bed;  he  spent  the 
night  in  an  armchair,  re-reading  the 
letter,  and  thinking.  When  the  ser- 
vant knocked  at  the  door,  he  went  to 
his  dressing-room,  and  shaved.  He 
had  a  bath,  and  breakfasted,  and 
strolled  to  the  station.  Outwardly  he 
had  recovered  from  the  blow,  and  his 
clerk  who  gave  him  his  list  of  appoint- 
ments remarked  nothing  abnormal 
about  him.  In  court  Heriot  remem- 
bered that  Mamie  and  he  were  to  have 
dined  in  Holland  Park  in  the  evening, 
and  during  the  luncheon  adjournment 
he  sent  a  telegram  of  excuse.  If  any 
one  had  known  what  had  happened  to 
him,  he  would  have  been  thought  de- 
void of  feeling. 

He  had  scarcely  re-entered  the  flat 
'34 


One  Man's  View 

when  Mrs.  Baines  called.  His  first 
impulse  was  to  decline  to  see  her;  but 
he  told  the  maid  to  show  her  in. 

A  glance  assured  him  that  she  was 
ignorant  of  what  had  occurred. 

"  Dear  Mamie  is  away,  the  servant 
tells  me!"  she  said,  simpering.  "I 
had  n't  seen  her  for  such  a  long  time 
that  I  thought  I  'd  look  in  to-day. 
Not  that  I  should  have  been  so  late, 
but  I  missed  my  train.  I  meant  to 
come  in  and  have  a  cup  of  tea  with  her 
at  five  o'clock.  Well,  I  am  unfortu- 
nate! And  how  have  you  been  keep- 
ing, Mr.  Heriot?  " 

"  I  'm  glad  to  see  you.  I  hope  you 
are  well,  Mrs.  Baines." 

41  Where  has  dear  Mamie  gone?  "  she 
asked.  "  Pleasuring?  " 

"  She  is  on  the  Continent,  I  believe. 
May  I  tell  them  to  bring  you  some  tea 
now?" 

"  On  the  Continent,  alone? "  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Baines.  "  Fancy!  " 


One  Man's  View 

44  No,  she  is  not  alone,"  said  Heriot 
quietly.  "  You  must  prepare  yourself 
for  a  shock,  Mrs.  Baines.  Your  niece 
has  left  me." 

She  looked  at  him  puzzled.  His 
tone  was  so  composed  that  it  seemed 
to  destroy  the  significance  of  his  words. 

41  Left  you?     How  do  you  mean?  " 

41  She  has  gone  with  her  lover." 

41  Oh,  my  Gawd!  "  said  Mrs.  Baines; 
41  whatever  are  you  saying,  Mr.  Heriot? 
Don't!" 

44  Your  niece  is  living  with  another 
man.  She  left  me  yesterday,"  he  con- 
tinued calmly.  "  I  regret  to  have  to 
tell  you  such  news." 

He  was  sorrier  as  he  observed  the 
effect  of  the  intelligence,  but  he  could 
not  soften  the  shock  for  her  by  any  out- 
ward participation  in  her  grief.  Since 
he  must  speak  at  all,  he  must  speak  as 
he  did. 

44  Oh,  to  hear  of  such  a  thing!  "  she 
gasped.  "  Oh,  to  think  that  —  well  — 
136 


One  Man's  View 

Oh,  Mr.  Heriot,  I  can't  —  it  can't 
be  true.  Is  n't  it  some  mistake? 
Dear  Mamie  would  never  be  so  wicked, 
I  'm  sure  she  would  n't!  It 's  some 
awful  mistake,  you  may  depend." 

"  There 's  no  mistake,  Mrs.  Baines. 
My  authority  is  your  niece  herself. 
She  left  a  letter  to  tell  me  she  had  gone, 
and  why." 

The  widow  moaned  feebly. 

"With  another  man?" 

He  bowed. 

"  Oh,  Heaven  will  punish  her,  Mr. 
Heriot !  Oh,  what  will  her  father  say 
—  how  could  she  do  it  !  And  you  — 
how  gentle  and  kind  to  her  you  were  / 
could  see! " 

"  I  did  my  best  to  make  her  happy," 
he  said;  "evidently  I  didn't  succeed. 
Is  it  necessary  for  us  to  talk  about  it 
much?  Believe  me,  you  have  my  sym- 
pathy, but  talking  won't  improve  mat- 
ters." 

"Oh,  but  I  can't  look  at  it  so — so 
137 


One   Man's  View 

calmly,  Mr.  Heriot !  The  disgrace! 
and  so  sudden!  And  it  is  n't  for  me  to 
have  your  sympathy,  I  'm  sure.  I  say 
it  is  n't  for  you  to  sympathize  with 
me.  My  heart  bleeds  for  you,  Mr. 
Heriot !  " 

"You're  very  good,"  he  answered; 
"  but  I  do  n't  know  that  a  faithless  wife 
is  much  to  grieve  for  after  all." 

"  Ah,  but  you  do  n't  mean  that ! 
You  were  too  fond  of  her  to  mean  it ! 
She  '11  live  to  repent  it,  you  may  be 
certain  —  the  Lord  will  bring  it  home 
to  her!  Oh,  how  could  she  do  it ! 
You  do  n't  —  you  do  n't  intend  to  have 
a  divorce?  " 

"  Naturally  I  intend  it.  What  else 
do  you  propose?  " 

"  Oh,  I  do  n't  know,"  she  quavered, 
rocking  herself  to  and  fro,  and  smear- 
ing the  tears  down  her  cheeks  with  a 
forefinger  in  the  black  silk  glove,  "  but 
the  disgrace!  And  all  Lavender  Street 
to  read  about  it !  Ah,  you  won't 
138 


One  Man's  View 

divorce  her,  Mr.  Heriot  ?  It  would  be 
so  dreadful!  " 

"  Do  n't  you  want  to  see  the  man 
marry  her?  " 

"  How  marry  her? "  she  asked 
vaguely.  "Oh,  I  understand!  Yes,  I 
suppose  he  could  marry  her  then, 
could  n't  he?  I  'm  not  a  lawyer  like 
you.  I  did  n't  look  so  far  ahead.  But 
I  do  n't  want  a  divorce." 

"Ah,  well,  /want  it,"  he  said;  "for 
my  own  sake." 

"  Then  you  do  n't  love  her  any  more, 
Mr.  Heriot?" 

He  laughed  drearily. 

"  Your  niece  has  ended  her  life  with 
me  of  her  own  accord.  I  've  nothing 
more  to  do  with  her." 

"Those  are  cruel  words,"  said  Mrs. 
Baines;  "those  are  cruel  words  about 
a  girl  who  was  your  lawful  wife  —  the 
flesh  of  your  bone  in  the  sight  of  Gawd 
and  man.  You  're  harder  than  I 
thought,  Mr.  Heriot;  you  do  n't  take  it 


One  Man's  View 

quite  as  I  'd  have  supposed  you  'd  take 
it.  ...  So  quiet  and  stern  like!  I 
think  if  you  'd  loved  her  tenderly, 
you  'd  have  talked  more  heartbroken, 
though  it's  not  for  me  to  judge." 

Heriot  rose. 

"I  can't  discuss  my  sentiments  with 
you,  Mrs.  Baines.  Think,  if  you  like, 
that  I  did  n't  care  for  her  at  all.  At 
least  my  duty  to  her  is  over;  and  I 
have  a  duty  to  myself  to-day." 

"To  cast  her  off?  "  The  semi-edu- 
cated classes  use  the  phrases  of  novel- 
ettes habitually.  Whether  this  is  the 
reason  the  novelettes  trade  in  the 
phrases,  or  whether  the  semi-educated 
acquire  the  phrases  from  the  novelettes, 
is  not  clear. 

"To — "  He  paused.  He  could  not 
trust  himself  to  speak  at  that  moment. 

"  To    cast   her  off! "  repeated   Mrs. 

Baines.     "  Oh,  I  do  n't  make  excuses 

for  her;  I  do  n't  pity  her.    Though  she 

is  my  brother's  child,   I  say  she  is  de- 

140 


One  Man's  View 

serving  of  whatever  befalls  her  !  I  re- 
member well  that  when  Dick  married 
I  warned  him  against  it;  I  said,  '  She 
is  n't  the  wife  for  you  ! '  It 's  the 
mother's  blood  coming  out  in  her, 
though  still  my  brother's  child.  What 
was  I  going  to  say?  I  'm  that  upset 
that —  Oh,  yes!  I  make  no  excuses 
for  her,  but  I  would  have  liked  to  see 
more  sorrow,  Mr.  Heriot,  on  your  part. 
I  could  have  pitied  you  more  if  you  'd 
have  taken  it  more  to  heart.  You  may 
think  me  bold,  but  it  was  ever  my  way 
to  say  what  was  in  my  mind.  I  do  n't 
think  I  '11  stop  any  longer.  The  way 
you  may  take  it  is  between  you  and 
your  Gawd,  but — " — she  put  out  her 
hand — "  I  do  n't  think  I  '11  stop." 

"  Good    evening,"    he    said  stonily. 
"  I  'm  sorry  you  cannot  stay  and  dine." 

She  recollected  on  the  stairs  that  she 
had  not  inquired  who  the    man  was; 
but  she  was  too  disgusted  by  Heriot's 
manner  to  go  back. 
141 


CHAPTER  IX 

When  a  naturally  pure  woman,  who 
is  not  sustained  by  any  emancipated 
views,  consents  to  live  with  a  man  in 
defiance  of  social  prejudices,  she  prob- 
ably obtains  as  clear  an  insight  as  the 
world  affords  into  the  enormous  differ- 
ence that  exists  between  the  ideal  and 
the  actual.  Matrimony  does  not  illu- 
mine the  difference  so  vividly,  because 
matrimony,  with  all  of  its  disillus- 
ions, leaves  her  an  unembarrassed  con- 
science. With  her  lover  such  a  woman 
experiences  all  the  prose  of  wedlock, 
and  a  sting  to  boot.  A  man  cannot  be 
at  concert-pitch  all  day  long  with  his 
mistress  any  more  easily  than  he  can 
with  his  wife.  She  has  to  submit  to 
bills  and  other  practical  matters  just  as 
142 


One  Man's  View 

much  with  a  smirched  reputation  as 
she  had  with  a  spotless  one.  The 
romance  does  not  wear  any  better  be- 
cause the  marriage  service  is  omitted. 
A  lover  is  no  less  liable  to  be  com- 
monplace than  a  husband  when  the 
laundress  knocks  the  buttons  off  his 
shirts. 

Yes,  Mamie  was  infatuated  by  Field; 
she  had  not  sinned  with  a  cool  head 
simply  to  procure  a  guide  up  Parnas- 
sus. But  she  had  hoped  to  pick  a  few 
laurels  there  all  the  same. 

She  found  herself  in  a  little  flat  in 
the  Rue  Tronchet.  They  had  few  visi- 
tors, and  those  who  did  come  were 
men  who  talked  in  a  language  that  she 
did  not  understand,  but  who  looked 
things  that  she  would  have  been  glad 
to  have  misunderstood. 

Nor  was  the  remorse  and  humilia- 
tion that  she  felt  leavened  by  any  con- 
sciousness of  advancing  in  her  art. 
Field  rather  pooh-poohed  her  art  as  the 
'43 


One  Man's  View 

months  went  by  after  the  decree  nisi 
was  pronounced.  He  still  discussed 
his  work  with  her  —  perhaps  less  as  if 
she  had  been  a  sybil  than  formerly,  but 
still  with  interest  in  her  ideas.  Her  own 
work,  however,  bored  him  now.  He 
had  no  intention  of  being  cold,  but 
the  subject  seemed  puerile  to  his  mind. 
If  she  did  write  a  play  that  was  pro- 
duced one  day,  or  if  she  did  n't,  what 
earthly  consequence  was  it?  She 
would  never  write  a  great  one;  and 
these  panting  aspirations  which  begot 
such  mediocre  results  savoured  to  him 
of  a  storm  in  a  teacup  —  of  a  furnace 
lit  to  boil  the  kettle. 

He  was  rather  sorry  that  he  had  run 
away  with  her,  but  he  did  not  regret  it 
particularly.  Of  course  he  would  marry 
her  as  soon  as  he  could  —  he  owed  her 
that;  and  since  he  was  not  such  a 
blackguard  as  to  contemplate  desert- 
ing her  by-and-by,  he  might  just  as 
well  marry  her  as  not.  The  whole 


One  Man's  View 

affair  had  been  a  folly,  certainly.  He 
was  not  rich,  and  he  was  extravagant; 
he  would  have  done  better  to  remain 
as  he  was.  Still  many  men  envied  him. 
He  trusted  fervently  she  would  not 
have  children,  though!  It  didn't  seem 
likely;  but  if  she  ever  did,  the  error 
would  be  doubled.  He  did  not  want  a 
son  who  had  cause  to  be  ashamed  of 
his  mother  when  he  grew  up! 

It  was  curious  that  she  did  not  refer 
more  often  to  his  legalizing  their  union. 
Her  position  pained  her,  he  could  see, 
and  made  her  very  frequently  a  dull 
companion.  That  was  the  worst  of 
these  things!  One  paid  for  the  step 
dearly  enough  to  expect  lively  society 
in  return,  and  yet,  if  one  complained  of 
mournfulness,  one  would  be  a  brute. 
He  would  write  a  drama  some  time  or 
other  to  show  that  it  was  really  the  man 
who  was  deserving  of  sympathy  in  such 
an  alliance.  It  would  be  very  original 
as  he  would  treat  it.  The  lover  should 
H5 


One  Man's  View 

explain  his  situation  to  another  woman 
whom  he  had  learnt  to  love  since,  and 
—  well,  he  didn't  see  how  it  should 
end:  —  with  the  dilemma  repeated? 
And  it  did  n't  matter  after  all,  for  no- 
body would  have  the  courage  to  pro- 
duce it. 

He  made  these  reflections  in  his 
study.  In  the  salon  —  furnished  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  tastes  of  the  lady 
who  had  sub-let  the  flat  to  them  for 
six  months  —  Mamie  stood  staring  down 
at  the  street.  It  was  four  o'clock,  and, 
saving  for  half  an  hour  at  lunch,  she 
had  not  seen  him  since  nine.  For  dis- 
traction she  could  make  her  choice 
among  some  Tauchnitz  novels,  her 
music,  and  a  walk.  Excepting  that 
the  room  was  tawdry  and  ill-ventilated, 
and  that  she  had  lost  her  reputation,  it 
was  not  unlike  her  life  in  South  Ken- 
sington. 

In  her  pocket  was  a  letter  from  her 
father  —  the  most  difficult  letter  that 
146 


One  Man's  View 

it  had  ever  fallen  to  Dick  Cheriton's  lot 
to  compose.  Theoretically  he  thought 
social  prejudices  absurd  —  as  became 
an  artist  to  whom  God  had  given  his 
soul  —  and  had  often  insisted  on  their 
ineptitude.  As  regarded  his  own  daugh- 
ter, however,  he  would  have  preferred 
to  see  her  treated  with  respect.  There 
was  a  likeness  to  Lucas  Field  here. 
Field  also  dwelt  on  the  hill-top,  but  he 
wanted  his  son,  if  he  ever  had  one,  to 
boast  a  stainless  mother.  Cheriton  had 
not  indited  curses,  like  the  fathers  in 
melodrama  and  the  people  who  have 
"found  religion" — only  the  parents 
of  melodrama,  and  the  "  Christians " 
who  go  to  church  twice  every  Sunday, 
are  infamous  enough  to  curse  their 
children.  He  had  told  her,  if  she  found 
herself  forsaken,  to  cable  him  for  her 
passage-money  back  to  Duluth.  But 
that  he  was  ashamed  and  broken  by 
what  she  had  done,  he  had  not  at- 
tempted to  conceal;  and  as  she  stood 


One  Man's  View 

there,  gazing  down  on  the  Rue  Iron- 
chet,  Mamie  was  recalling  the  con- 
fession she  had  sent,  to  which  this  was 
an  answer.  Phrases  she  had  used  came 
back  to  her:  — "  I  have  done  my  best, 
but  my  love  was  too  strong  for  me"; 
"  Wicked  as  it  may  be  to  say  it,  I  know 
that,  even  in  my  guilt,  I  shall  always 
be  happy";  "  I  met  the  right  man  too 
late,  but  I  am  so  young — I  could  not 
suffer  all  my  life  without  him  ";  "  For- 
give me  if  you  can."  Had  she — it 
was  a  horrible  thought  —  had  she  been 
mistaken?  Had  she  blundered  more 
terribly  than  when  she  married?  For, 
unless  her  prophecies  of  joy  to  the 
brim  were  fulfilled — unless  her  measure 
of  thanksgiving  overflowed  —  the  blun- 
der was  more  terrible,  infinitely  more 
terrible:  she  had  been  a  gambler  who 
staked  her  soul  in  her  conviction  of 
success. 

The  question  was  one  that  she  had 
asked  herself  many  times  before,  with- 
148 


One  Man's  View 

out  daring  to  hear  the  answer;  but  that 
the  answer  was  in  her  heart,  though  she 
shrank  from  acknowledging  it,  might 
be  seen  in  her  expression,  in  her  every 
pose;  it  might  be  seen  now,  as  she 
drooped  by  the  window.  She  sighed, 
and  sat  down,  and  shivered.  Yes,  she 
knew  it  —  she  had  thrown  away  the 
substance  for  the  shadow;  she  could 
deceive  herself  no  longer.  Lucas  Field 
was  not  so  poetical  a  personality  as  she 
had  imagined;  guilt  had  no  glamour; 
her  devotion  had  been  a  flash  in  the 
pan  —  a  madness  that  had  burned  itself 
out.  She  had  no  right  to  blame  her 
lover  for  that;  only  the  prospect  of 
marriage  with  him  filled  her  with  no 
elation;  it  inspired  misgiving  rather. 
If  she  had  made  a  blunder,  would  it 
improve  matters  to  perpetuate  it?  He 
was  considerate  to  her,  he  spared  her 
all  the  ignominy  that  was  possible;  but 
instinctively  she  was  aware  that,  if  they 
parted,  he  would  never  miss  her  as  her 
149 


One  Man's  View 

husband  had  done.  In  his  life  she 
would  never  make  a  hole!  She  guessed 
the  depth  of  Heriot's  love  better  now 
that  she  had  obtained  a  smaller  one  as 
plummet.  Between  the  manner  of  the 
man  who  was  not  particularly  sorry  to 
have  run  away  with  her,  and  him  whose 
pride  she  had  been,  the  difference  was 
tremendous  to  a  woman  whose  position 
was  calculated  to  develop  her  natural 
sensitiveness  to  the  point  of  a  disease. 

Should  she  marry  Lucas  or  not? 
Hitherto  she  had  merely  avoided  the 
query;  now  she  trembled  before  it. 
Expedience  said,  "Yes";  something 
within  her  said,  "  No."  The  decree 
would  be  made  absolute  in  two  months' 
time.  What  was  to  become  of  her  if 
they  separated?  To  Duluth  she  could 
never  go,  to  be  pointed  at  and  despised! 
She  sighed  again. 

"  Bored,  dear?  "  asked  Field,  in  the 
doorway. 

"  I  was  thinking." 
150 


One  Man's  View 

"That  was  obvious,  Not  of  your  — 
er  —  work?" 

"  No,  not  of  my — 'er  —  work.'  " 

He  pulled  his  moustache  with  some 
embarrassment. 

"  I  did  n't  mean  anything  derogatory 
to  it." 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  she  said  wearily; 
"  do  n't  —  it  does  n't  matter!  You  can't 
think  much  less  of  it  than  I  am  begin- 
ning to  do  myself.  You  can't  take 
much  less  interest  in  it! " 

"You  are  unjust,"  said  Field. 

"  I  am  moped.  Take  me  out.  Take 
me  out  of  myself  if  you  can,  but  take 
me  out  of  doors  at  any  rate.  I  am 
yearning  to  be  in  a  crowd." 

"  We  might  go  to  a  theatre  to-night," 
he  said;  "would  you  like  to?" 

"It  doesn't  amuse  me  very  much; 
I  do  n't  understand  what  they  say. 
Still  it  would  be  something.  But  I 
want  to  go  out  now  for  a  walk.  I 


One  Man's  View 

do  n't  like  walking  here  alone;  can't 
you  come  with  me?" 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  can't.  You  forget  I 
promised  an  '  interview '  to  that  paper 
this  afternoon.  I  expect  the  fellow 
here  any  moment." 

"You  promised  it?"  she  exclaimed 
with  surprise.  "Why,  I  thought  you 
said  that  the  paper  was  a  '  rag,'  and 
you  would  n't  dream  of  consenting?  " 

"  After  all,  one  must  be  courteous.  I 
changed  my  mind.  There  's  some  talk 
of  translating  A  Clever  Man's  Son  into 
French.  An  '  interview '  just  now 
would  be  good  policy." 

"  You  are  going  to  be  '  adapted  '  ?  A 
Clever  Man's  Son?  " 

"Translated,"  he  said.  "I  may 
adapt.  I  am  —  translated!" 

She  smiled,  but  perceived  almost  at 
the  same  instant  that  she  had  not  been 
intended  to  do  so,  and  that  he  had  said 
it  seriously. 

"  I  make  a  very  good  '  interview,'  he 
152 


One  Man's  View 

continued,  lighting  a  cigarette;  "  I  dare- 
say you  Ve  noticed  it.  I  never  count 
an  epigram  or  two  wasted,  though  they 
do  go  into  another  chap's  '  copy.' 
That 's  where  many  men  make  a  mis- 
take; or  very  likely  they  can't  invent 
the  epigrams.  Anyhow,  they  do  n't! 
The  average  '  interview '  is  as  dull  as 
the  average  play.  People  think  it 's 
the  journalist's  fault,  but  it  is  n't.  It 's 
the  fault  of  the  deadly  dull  dogs  who  've 
got  nothing  to  tell  them.  I  ought  to 
have  gone  a  good  deal  farther  than  I 
have:  I  've  the  two  essential  qualities 
for  success  —  I  'm  an  artist  and  a  show- 
man." 

"  Do  n't!  "  she  murmured;  "  Do  n't! " 

He  laughed  gaily. 

"  I  'm  perfectly  frank;  I  admit  the 
necessities  of  life  —  I  've  told  you  so 
before!  My  mind  never  works  so 
rapidly  as  it  does  in  prospect  of  a  good 
advertisement.  There  the  fellow  is,  I 
expect! "  he  added,  as  the  bell  rang. 
153 


One  Man's  View 

"  The  study  is  quite  in  disorder  for 
him,  and  there  are  a  bunch  of  Parma 
violets  and  a  flask  of  maraschino  on  the 
desk.  I  "m  going  to  remark  that  maras- 
chino and  the  scent  of  violets  are  indis- 
pensable to  me  when  I  work.  He 
won't  believe  it,  unless  he  is  very 
young,  but  he  '11  be  immeasurably 
obliged;  that  sort  of  thing  looks  well 
in  an  '  interview  ' !  Violets  and  maras- 
chino are  a  graceful  combination,  I 
think." 

She  did  not  reply;  she  sat  pale  and 
chagrined.  He  was  renowned  enough, 
and  more  than  talented  enough  to  dis- 
pense with  these  stage-tricks  in  the 
library.  She  knew  it,  and  he  knew  it, 
but  he  could  not  help  them.  Awhile 
ago  they  had  caused  her  the  cruellest 
pain;  now  she  was  more  contemptuous 
than  anything  else,  albeit  she  was  still 
galled  that  he  should  display  his  foibles 
so  candidly.  "  I  am  quite  frank,"  he 
had  said.  She  found  such  "  frank- 


One  Man's  View 

ness  "  a  milestone  on  the  road  she  had 
travelled. 

"My  dear  child,"  said  Field,  "among 
the  illusions  of  a  man's  youth  is  the 
belief  that  if  he  goes  through  life  do- 
ing his  humble  best  in  an  unobtrusive 
way,  the  press  will  say  what  a  jolly  fine 
fellow  he  is,  and  hold  him  up  as  a  pat- 
tern to  all  the  braggarts  and  poseurs 
who  are  blowing  their  own  trumpets 
and  scraping  on  their  own  fiddles. 
Among  the  things  he  learns  as  he 
grows  older  is  the  fact  that  if  he  does 
his  best  in  an  unobtrusive  way,  the 
press  will  say  nothing  about  him  at  all ! 
The  fiddle  and  the  trumpet  are  essen- 
tial, but  it  is  possible  to  play  them  with 
a  certain  amount  of  refinement.  It  is 
even  possible — though  a  clever  man 
cannot  dispense  with  the  fiddle  and  the 
trumpet — for  the  fiddle  and  the  trumpet 
to  be  played  so  dexterously  that  he 
may  dispense  with  cleverness !  I  do 
not  go  to  such  lengths  myself —  " 
'55 


One  Man's  View 

"You  have  no  need  to  do  so,"  she 
said  coldly. 

"  I  have  no  need  to  do  so — thank 
you!  But  I  can  quite  conceive  that, 
say,  violets  and  maraschino,  worked 
for  all  they  were  worth,  might  make  a 
man  famous  alone.  A  mouse  liberated 
a  lion,  and  things  smaller  than  a  mouse 
have  created  one  before  now.  The 
violet  in  the  hedgerow  '  bloomed  un- 
seen,' or  'died  unknown,'  was  it?  It 
did  something  modest  and  unsuccess- 
ful, I  know !  The  violet  assiduously 
paragraphed  and  paraded  might  lead 
to  fortune." 

"  I  would  rather  be  obscure,  and  do 
honest,  conscientious  work,"  answered 
Mamie,  "  than  write  rubbish,  and  finesse 
myself  into  popularity." 

"  It  is  much  easier !  "  he  said  tran- 
quilly. "To  be  obscure  is  the  one 
thing  that  is  easy  still.  You  do  n't 
mind  my  saying  that  I  hate  the  adjec- 
tives you  used,  though,  do  you  ?  The 
156 


One  Man's  View 

words  '  honest '  and  '  conscientious,1 
applied  to  literature,  dearest,  make  me 
shudder.  I  am  always  afraid  that 
'  wholesome '  is  coming  in  the  next 
sentence." 

"Are  you  going  to  say  so  to  your 
interviewer  ?  " 

"  The  remark  does  n't  scintillate  with 
brilliance.  It  was  sincere,  and  to  be 
sincere  and  brilliant  at  the  same  time 
is  a  little  difficult.  ...  I  've  been  both, 
though,  in  the  act  I  've  just  done;  you 
must  read  it  or  rather  I  '11  read  it  to 
you.  You  '11  be  pleased  with  it.  As 
soon  as  the  piece  is  finished  I  must 
write  to  Erskine.  It  will  suit  the  Pall 
Mall  down  to  the  ground,  and  I  should 
like  it  done  there,  only  — " 

"Only  what?" 

Field  hesitated. 

"  I  meant  it  for  Erskine  from  the 
commencement.  He  saw  the  scenario, 
and  the  part  fits  him  like  a  glove." 

"  But  what  were  you  going  to  say  ?  " 


One  Man's  View 

"Well,  I  fancy  he  has  some  idea 
that  a  piece  of  mine  just  now — you 
understand,  with  the  case  so  fresh  in 
people's  minds — Erskine 's  a  fool! 
What  on  earth  does  the  public  care  ? 
Of  course  he  '11  do  it  when  he  reads  the 
part  he 's  got!  Only  I  know  he  is 
doubting  whether  my  name  would  be  a 
judicious  card  to  play  yet  awhile." 

There  was  a  pause,  in  which  her 
heart  contracted  painfully. 

"  I  see,"  she  rejoined,  in  a  low  voice. 

He  fidgetted  before  the  mirror,  and 
glanced  at  his  watch. 

"That  fellow  must  be  getting  impa- 
tient!" 

"You  had  better  go  in  to  him,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  we  '11  go  to  the  Vaudeville, 
or  somewhere,  to-night,  Mamie — that 's 
arranged  ?  " 

"Yes,  to  the  Vaudeville,  or  some- 
where," she  assented,  with  another  sigh. 

She  went  back  to  the  window,  and 
stared  at  the  Rue  Tronchet  with  wet  eyes. 
158 


CHAPTER   X 

Some  weeks  afterwards  Field  went 
to  England.  He  did  not  take  Mamie 
with  him,  for  he  only  intended  to  re- 
main a  few  days,  nor  had  she  been  at 
all  desirous  of  accompanying  him.  She 
had  begun,  indeed,  to  see  that  she  did 
not  know  what  she  did  desire.  Her 
life  in  Paris  oppressed  her;  the  notion 
of  Duluth  was  horrible;  and  the  thought 
of  living  with  Lucas  in  London,  where 
she  might  meet  an  acquaintance  of 
Heriot's  at  any  turn,  was  repugnant  in 
an  almost  equal  degree. 

Field  was  unexpectedly  detained  in 
London.  The  business  which  had  been 
responsible  for  his  journey  constantly 
evaded  completion,  and  after  he  had 
been  gone  about  a  month  a  letter  came, 


One  Man's  View 

in  which  he  mentioned  incidentally  that 
he  had  contracted  a  touch  of  influenza. 
After  this  letter  a  fortnight  went  by 
without  her  hearing  from  him,  and  ren- 
dered anxious  at  last,  she  wrote  to 
inquire  if  his  silence  was  attributable  to 
his  indisposition  —  if  the  latter  was  of 
a  serious  nature. 

Her  mind  did  not  instantaneously 
grasp  the  significance  of  the  telegram 
that  she  tore  open  a  few  hours  later. 
It  ran: 

"  My    nephew    dangerously    ill.      If 
you  desire  to  see  him,  better  come.— 
PORTEOUS." 

She  stood  gazing  at  it.  Who  had 
telegraphed?  Who —  Then  she  under- 
stood that  it  was  Lucas  who  was  meant. 
Lucas  was  "dangerously  ill"!  She 
must  go  to  him.  She  must  go  at  once! 
She  was  so  staggered  by  the  sudden- 
ness of  the  intelligence  that  she  was 
momentarily  incapable  of  recollecting 
when  the  trains  left,  or  how  she  should 
1 60 


One  Man's  View 

act  in  order  to  ascertain.  All  she 
realized  was  that  this  was  Paris,  and 
Lucas  lay  "  dangerously  ill "  in  Lon- 
don, and  that  she  had  to  reach  him. 
Her  head  swam,  and  the  little  French 
she  knew  seemed  to  desert  her;  the 
undertaking  looked  enormous  —  beset 
with  difficulties  that  were  almost  in- 
superable. 

The  stupidity  of  the  bonne,  for  whom 
she  pealed  the  bell,  served  to  sharpen 
her  faculties  a  trifle,  but  she  made  her 
preparations  as  if  in  a  dream.  When 
she  found  herself  in  the  train,  it  ap- 
peared to  her  unreal  that  she  could  be 
there.  The  interval  had  left  no  salient 
impressions  on  her  brain — nothing  but 
a  confused  sense  of  delay.  It  was  only 
now  that  she  felt  able  to  reflect. 

The  telegram  was  crumpled  in  her 
pocket,  and  she  took  it  out  and  re-read 
it  agitatedly.  How  did  this  relative 
come  to  be  at  the  hotel?  Lucas  had 
scarcely  spoken  of  his  relations.  "  If 
161 


One  Man's  View 

you  desire  to  see  him!  "  The  import 
of  those  words  was  frightful  —  he  could 
not  be  expected  to  recover!  Her  stupe- 
faction rolled  away,  and  was  succeeded 
by  a  fever  of  suspense.  The  restric- 
tion of  the  compartment  was  madden- 
ing, and  she  looked  at  her  watch  a 
dozen  times,  only  to  find  that  not  ten 
minutes  had  passed  since  she  consulted 
it  last.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  had 
been  travelling  for  at  least  two  days, 
when  she  stood  outside  a  bedroom  door 
in  a  little  hotel  off  Bond  Street,  and 
tapped  at  the  panels  with  her  heart  in 
her  throat. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  woman 
whose  dress  proclaimed  her  to  be  an 
institution  nurse.  Field  slept,  and 
Mamie  sank  into  a  chair,  and  waited 
for  his  wakening. 

"  How  is  he?  "  she  asked  in  a  low 
tone. 

The  nurse  shook  her  head. 


162 


One  Man's  View 

"  He  's  not  doing  as  well  as  we  could 
wish,  ma'am." 

"  Is  Mr.  Porteous  here?  " 

"Mrs.  Porteous!  She'll  be  coming 
presently.  She  lives  close  by." 

So  it  was  a  woman  who  had  tele- 
graphed! Somehow  she  had  assumed 
unquestioningly  that  it  was  a  man.  "  If 
you  desire  to  see  him  — "  Ah,  yes, 
she  might  have  known  it!  An  aunt, 
who  would  be  frigid  and  contemptuous, 
of  course.  Well,  she  deserved  that; 
she  would  have  no  right  to  complain; 
nor  was  it  to  be  expected  that  Lucas's 
family  should  show  her  much  consider- 
ation, though  she  could  not  perceive 
that  she  had  done  them  any  injury. 

It  was  two  hours  before  her  inter- 
view with  the  lady  took  place.  Mamie 
was  in  the  room  she  had  engaged  in 
the  meanwhile,  and  had  bathed  her 
face,  and  was  making  ready  to  return 
to  the  sick-chamber  when  she  was  told 


163 


One  Man's  View 

that  Mrs.  Porteous  was  inquiring  for 
her. 

"Won  't  you  come  in?"  she  asked. 
"  Our  voices  will  not  disturb  him  here." 

Mrs.  Porteous  entered  gingerly.  She 
was  a  massive  woman,  of  middle  age, 
fashionably  dressed.  Her  expression 
suggested  no  grief,  only  a  vague  fear 
of  contamination.  She  had  telegraphed 
to  Paris  because  she  felt  that  it  was  her 
duty  to  do  so;  but  she  had  not  done  so 
until  it  was  almost  certain  that  the 
patient  would  not  rally  sufficiently  to 
make  a  will. 

"You  are  —  er,  Mrs.  Heriot?  "  she 
said,  regarding  her  curiously.  "  The 
doctor  advised  that  Mr.  Field's  condi- 
tion should  be  made  known  to  you;  so 
I  wired." 

"Thank  you;  it  was  very  kind." 

"The  doctor  advised  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Porteous  again,  significantly. 

"  Is  he  —  is  there  no  hope?  " 

"  We  fear  not;  my  nephew  is  sinking 
164 


One  Man's  View 

fast  —  it 's  as  well  you  should  under- 
stand it.  If  you  think  it  necessary  to 
remain —  I  see  you  have  taken  a 
room?  As  —  as  'Mrs.  Field,'  I  pre- 
sume?" 

"  I  should  have  been  '  Mrs.  Field  '  if 
Lucas  —  " 

His  aunt  shivered. 

"  There  are  things  we  need  not  discuss. 
Of  course,  I  am  aware  that  you  are  living 
under  my  nephew's  name.  I  was  about 
to  say  that  if  you  think  it  necessary 
to  remain  until  the  end,  I  have  no  oppo- 
sition to  offer;  but  the  end  is  very  near 
now.  My  telegram  must  have  prepared 
you?  I  should  not  have  wired  unless  — " 

"  I  understood,"  answered  Mamie; 
"yes,  I  am  glad  that  your  nephew  had 
a  relative  near  him,  though  your  name 
was  quite  unfamiliar  to  me.  He  never 
mentioned  it." 

"  Really!  Lucas  called  to  see  us  at 
once.  Our  house  is  in  the  neighbor- 
hood." 

165 


One  Man's  View 

"  He  wrote  me,"  said  Mamie,  "that 
he  had  a  touch  of  influenza.  It  seems 
extraordinary  that  influenza  should 
prove  so  serious.  He  was  strong, 
he  was  in  good  health  —  " 

The  other's  air  implied  that  she  did 
not  find  it  necessary  to  discuss  this 
either. 

"  People  die  of  influenza  or  the  re- 
sults every  year,"  she  said.  "  The  doc- 
tor will  give  you  any  information  you 
may  desire,  no  doubt.  You  must  ex- 
cuse me  —  I  may  be  wanted." 

While  Field  lingered  she  never  left 
his  side  after  Mamie's  arrival.  Men 
committed  preposterous  actions  on  their 
deathbeds,  and  though  it  was  not  an- 
ticipated that  he  would  recover  con- 
sciousness, there  was  always  the  possi- 
bility of  such  a  thing  happening.  If 
an  opportunity  occurred,  his  mistress 
would  doubtless  produce  a  solicitor  and 
a  provision  for  herself  with  the  rapidity 
of  a  conjuring  trick;  and,  as  it  was, 
166 


One  Man's  View 

Mrs.  Porteous  had  small  misgivings  but 
that  he  would  die  intestate.  There 
might  not  be  much,  but  what  there  was 
should  at  least  not  swell  the  coffers  of 
guilty  wives! 

Events  proved  that  her  summons  had 
not  been  precipitate,  however.  Field 
spoke  at  the  last  a  few  coherent  words, 
and  took  Mamie's  hand.  But  that  was 
all.  Then  he  never  spoke  any  more. 
Even  as  she  stood  gazing  at  the  inani- 
mate form  under  the  sheet,  the  swift- 
ness of  the  catastrophe  made  it  difficult 
for  the  girl  to  realize  that  all  was  over. 
The  calamity  had  fallen  on  her  like  a 
thunderbolt  —  it  seemed  strange,  inex- 
plicable, untrue.  The  last  time  but  one 
on  which  he  had  talked  to  her  he  had 
been  packing  a  portmanteau,  full  of 
vigour,  humming  a  tune,  alluding  to  fees, 
some  details  of  the  theatre,  the  pros- 
pect of  a  smooth  crossing.  And  now 
he  was  dead!  There  had  been  little  or 
no  transition;  he  was  well  —  he  was 
167 


One  Man's  View 

dead!  The  curtain  had  tumbled  in  the 
middle  of  the  play  —  and  it  would 
never  go  up  any  more. 

It  was  not  until  after  the  funeral  that 
she  was  capable  of  meditating  upon  the 
change  in  her  life  that  was  wrought  by 
Lucas  Field's  death.  She  did  not  ask 
herself  whether  he  had  left  her  anything 
or  not.  The  idea  that  he  might  have 
done  so  never  occurred  to  her,  nor 
would  she  have  felt  that  she  could  ac- 
cept his  bequest,  if  he  had  made  one. 
She  perceived  that  she  had  nobody  to 
turn  to  but  her  father,  and  to  him  she 
cabled. 

Cheriton  replied  by  two  questions: 
What  was  Field's  will?  and  would  she 
like  to  return  to  Duluth?  To  the  latter 
she  gave  a  definite  answer:  "Impossi- 
ble; pray  do  n't  ask  me."  And  then 
there  was  an  interval  of  correspond- 
ence. 

While  Mrs.  Porteous  was  delighted 
to  find  her  confidence  justified,  and  that 
168 


One  Man's  View 

her  nephew  had  died  intestate,  Mamie 
was  face  to  face  with  the  necessity  of 
swallowing  her  repugnance  to  going 
back  to  America,  or  of  living  with  Mrs. 
Baines.  Cheriton  had  written  to  them 
both,  and  on  one  course  or  the  other 
being  adopted  he  was  insistent.  Mamie 
need  not  live  in  Lavender  Street  unless 
she  chose;  Mrs.  Baines  might  make  her 
home  in  another  neighbourhood,  where 
they  would  be  strangers.  But  that  the 
girl  should  remain  in  England  alone 
was  out  of  the  question.  Which  line 
of  conduct  did  she  prefer? 

She  could  not  immediately  decide. 
Both  proposals  distressed  her.  On  the 
whole,  perhaps,  the  lesser  evil  was  to 
resign  herself  to  her  Aunt  Lydia  if,  as 
her  father  declared,  her  aunt  was  will- 
ing to  receive  her.  Mrs.  Baines,  at 
any  rate,  was  but  one,  while  in  Duluth 
half  the  population,  and  more  than  that, 
would  be  acquainted  with  her  story. 

But  was  her  Aunt  Lydia  willing? 
169 


One  Man's  View 

Was  she  expected  to  write  to  her  and 
inquire?  She  was  not  entitled  to 
possess  dignity,  of  course;  but  it  was 
not  easy  to  eat  dust,  because  the  right 
to  self-respect  was  forfeited. 

She  had  removed  to  a  lodging  in 
Bernard  Street,  Bloomsbury,  and  in  the 
fusty  sitting-room  she  sat  all  day, 
lonely  and  miserable,  reviewing  the 
blunder  of  her  life.  She  neither  wrote 
nor  read  —  her  writing  was  an  idea  she 
hated  now;  she  merely  thought;  wish- 
ing she  could  recall  the  past,  wondering 
how  she  could  bear  the  future.  One 
afternoon  when  she  sat  there,  pale  and 
wet-eyed,  the  maid-of-all-work  an- 
nounced a  visitor,  and  Mrs.  Baines 
came  in. 

Mamie  rose  nervously,  and  the  other 
advanced.  She  had  rehearsed  an  in- 
terview which  should  be  a  compromise 
between  the  instructions  laid  upon  her 
by  her  brother  and  the  attitude  of 
righteous  rebuke  that  she  had  felt  to  be 
170 


One  Man's  View 

a  permissible  luxury,  but  the  forlorn- 
ness  of  the  figure  before  her  drove, hex, 
opening  sentence  from  her  head.  All 
she  could  say  was  the  girl's  name;  and 
then  there  was  a  pause,  in  which  they 
looked  at  each  other. 

"  It  is  kind  of  you  to  come,"  Mamie 
murmured. 

"I  hope  you  are  well?"  said  Mrs. 
Baines. 

"  Not  very.  I —  Won't  you  sit 
down?" 

"  I  never  thought  I  should  see  you 
like  this,  Mamie,"  said  the  widow,  half 
involuntarily  shaking  her  head. 

The  girl  made  no  answer  in  words. 
She  caught  her  breath,  and  stood  pas- 
sive. If  the  lash  fell  she  would  suffer 
silently. 

"  Sin  always  brings  its  own  punish- 
ment, though  "  —  she  believed  it  always 
did;  she  had  such  startling  optim- 
isms—  "it  is  not  for  me  to  reproach 
you." 

171 


One  Man's  View 

"Thank  you!  I  am  not  too  happy, 
Aunt  Lydia." 

"  I  daresay,  my  dear.  I  have  n't 
come  to  make  it  worse  for  you." 

She  scrutinized  her  again.  She 
would  have  been  horrified  to  hear  the 
suggestion,  but  her  niece's  presence 
was  not  without  a  guilty  fascination, 
a  pleasurable  excitement,  to  her  as  she 
remembered  that  here  was  one  who  had 
broken  the  Seventh  Commandment. 
She  was  sitting  opposite  a  girl  who  had 
lived  in  Paris  with  a  lover,  and  she 
was  sitting  opposite  her  under  circum- 
stances which  redounded  to  her  own 
credit. 

"  I  have  heard  from  your  father,"  she 
went  on;  "  I  suppose  you  know?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Mamie;  "  he  has  written 
me." 

"  And  do  you  wish  to  make  your 
home  with  me  again?  I  am  quite  ready 
to  take  you  if  you  like." 

"  I  could  never  live  in  Lavender 
172 


One  Man's  View 

Street  any  more,  Aunt  Lydia.  You 
must  understand  that  —  that  it  would 
be  awful  to  me!  " 

"  Your  father  hinted  at  my  moving. 
It  will  be  a  great  trouble,  but  I  shall 
not  shirk  my  duty,  dear  Mamie.  If  it 
will  make  your  burden  any  easier  to 
bear,  we  will  live  together  somewhere 
else.  I  say,  if  I  can  make  your  burden 
any  easier  for  you,  I  will  live  some- 
where else." 

"I  am  not  ungrateful.  I  —  yes,  if 
you  will  have  me,  I  should  like  to  come 
to  you." 

Mrs.  Baines  sighed,  and  smoothed 
her  skirt  tremulously. 

"To  Balham?"  she  inquired. 

"  You  are  moving  to  Balham?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  about  it.  I  was 
over  there  the  other  day  to  get  some 
stuff  for  a  bodice.  It 's  nice  and 
healthy,  with  the  Commons  and  what 
n6t,  and  the  shopping  is  cheap." 

"  It  is  all  the  same  to  me  where  we 


One  Man's  View 

go,"  said  Mamie,  "  so  long  as  the  peo- 
ple do  n't  know  me." 

"  I  hear  you  were  living  with  —  with 
him  in  Paris?  Operas,  and  drives,  and 
all  manner  of  things  to  soothe  your 
conscience,  he  gave  you,  I  've  no 
doubt?  "  said  Mrs.  Baines,  in  an  awe- 
struck invitation  to  communicative- 
ness. "  After  that  terrible  life  in  Paris, 
Balham  will  seem  quiet  to  you,  I  dare- 
say; but  perhaps  you  won't  mind  that?  ' 

"  No  place  can  be  too  quiet  for  me. 
The  quieter  it  is,  the  better  I  shall  like 
it." 

"  That 's  as  it  should  be.  Though,  I 
suppose,  with  'him,'  you  were  out 
among  gaieties  every  night? "  She 
waited  for  a  few  particulars  again.  As 
none  were  forthcoming:  "  Then  I  '11  try 
to  let  the  house,  and  we  '11  go  over  to- 
gether and  look  at  some  in  Balham  as 
soon  as  you  like,  my  dear,"  she  con- 
tinued. "Your  father  will  see  that 
I  'm  not  put  to  any  expense.  In  the 


One  Man's  View 

meantime  you  '11  stay  where  you  are, 
eh?  You  know  —  you  know  I  saw  Mr. 
Heriot  after  you  'd  gone,  do  n't  you?  " 

"  No,"  stammered  the  girl,  lifting 
eager  eyes.  "  You  went  to  him?  " 

"The  very  next  day,  my  dear,  so  it 
seemed!  I  thought  I  'd  drop  in  and 
have  a  cup  of  tea  with  you,  not  having 
seen  you  for  so  long;  and  through 
missing  a  train,  and  having  such  a  time 
to  wait  at  the  station,  I  was  an  hour 
and  more  late  when  I  got  to  Ken- 
sington. He  was  at  home.  Of  course 
I  had  no  suspicion  there  was  anything 
wrong;  I  shall  never  forget  it  —  never! 
You  might  have  knocked  me  down 
with  a  feather,  as  the  saying  is,  when  I 
heard  you  'd  gone!  " 

"  What,"  muttered  Mamie, —  "  what 
did  he  say?" 

"It  was  like  this:  I  said  to  him, 
1  Dear  Mamie  's  away,  the  servant  tells 
me? '  For  naturally  I  thought  you 
were  visiting  friends.  'As  likely  as 


One  Man's  View 

not,  she 's  with  his  family,'  I  said  to 
myself.  '  Oh,  yes,'  he  said,  '  you  must 
prepare  yourself  for  a  shock,  Mrs. 
Baines  —  my  wife  has  left  me.'  '  Left 
you?  '  I  said.  '  Yes,'  said  he,  so  cool 
that  it  turned  me  a  mass  of  blood  to 
hear  him;  'she's  gone  away  with  a 
lover.'  'Mr.  Heriot! '  I  exclaimed  — 
I  was  almost  pinching  myself  to  see  if 
I  was  awake  — '  Mister  Heriot! '  '  She 
left  a  note,'  he  said,  'so  it's  all  right! 
Do  you  think  we  need  talk  about  it 
much?  I  don't  know  that  a  worthless 
woman  is  any  loss,'  he  said." 

"He  said  that?" 

"Those  were  his  very  words,  my 
dear.  But  how  cool  I  can't  give  you 
an  idea!  I  stared  at  him.  I  'd  no 
mind  to  make  excuses  for  you,  Gawd 
knows;  but,  for  all  that,  one's  own  flesh 
and  blood  was  n't  going  to  be  talked 
about  like  niggers,  or  what  not,  in  my 
hearing.  When  I  got  my  wits  together, 
I  said,  '  It  seems  to  me  I  'd  be  sorrier 
176 


One  Man's  View 

for  you,  Mr.  Heriot,  if  you  took  it  dif- 
ferent.' '  Oh,'  said  he  in  a  superior 
way,  '  would  you?  We  need  n't  discuss 
my  feelings,  madam.  Perhaps  you  '11 
stay  and  dine? '  I  was  so  angry  that  I 
could  n't  be  civil  to  him.  '  I  thank 
you,'  I  said,  '  I  will  not  stay  and  dine. 
And  I  take  the  opportunity,  Mr.  Heriot, 
of  telling  you  you're  a  brute! '  With 
that  I  came  away;  but  there  was  much 
more  in  between  that  I  've  forgotten  — 
about  the  divorce  it  was!  He  said  he 
had  '  a  duty  to  himself,'  and  that  the 
man  could  marry  you  when  you  were 
divorced;  which  I  suppose  he  would 
have  done  if  he  had  lived?  Though 
whether  your  sin  would  have  been  any 
less,  my  dear,  if  an  archbishop  had  per- 
formed the  ceremony,  is  a  question  that 
I  could  not  undertake  to  decide.  You 
must  begin  your  life  afresh,  now  that 
it's  all  'absolute' — which  I  learn  is 
the  proper  term  —  and  you'll  never  be 
in  a  newspaper  any  more!  Pray  to 
177 


One  Man's  View 

Heaven  for  aid,  and  take  heart  of  grace! 
And  if  it  will  relieve  you  to  speak 
sometimes  of  those  sinful  months  with 
—  with  the  other  one  in  Paris,  why,  you 
shall  talk  about  them  to  me,  my  dear, 
and  I  won't  reproach  you." 

Mamie  was  no  longer  listening.  An 
emotion  that  she  did  not  seek  to  define 
was  roused  in  her  as  she  wondered  if 
Heriot  could  indeed  have  taken  the 
blow  so  stoically  as  her  aunt  declared. 
She  scarcely  knew  whether  she  wished 
to  put  faith  in  his  demeanour  or  not,  but 
the  subject  was  one  that  filled  her 
thoughts  long  after  Mrs.  Baines's  depar- 
ture. It  was  one  to  which  she  con- 
stantly recurred,  too. 

With  less  delay  than  might  have 
been  anticipated,  the  widow  found  a 
house  in  Balham  which  fulfilled  her  re- 
quirements, and  the  removal  was 
effected  several  months  before  No.  20, 
Lavender  Street,  was  sub-let. 

The  houses  of  this  class  differ  from 
178 


One  Man's  View 

one  another  but  slightly.  Excepting 
that  the  one  in  Balham  was  numbered 
"  44,"  and  that  the  street  was  called 
"  Rosalie  Road,"  Mamie  could  have 
found  it  easy  to  believe  that  she  was 
re-installed  in  Wandsworth.  Such  villas 
are,  for  the  most  part,  the  crown  of 
lives  too  limited  to  realize  their  limita- 
tions—  too  unsuccessful  to  be  aware 
that  they  have  failed.  The  residents' 
strongest  characteristic  is  a  scorn  of 
the  gentlepeople  who  live  in  lodgings. 
"  Lodgings  "  are  mentioned  here  with 
the  same  horror  which,  in  a  still  lower 
grade,  is  inspired  by  the  name  of  the 
workhouse.  In  Rosalie  Road  they 
have  "  a  house  to  themselves"!  Ban- 
ners of  victory,  the  "  washing  "  swirls 
till  nightfall  on  their  own  clothes-props; 
each  morning  the  odour  of  bacon  floats 
into  their  own  back-yard !  In  such 
regions  breakfast  means  bacon  every 
day  of  the  week  —  bacon  all  the  year 
round.  Children  are  born,  and  develop 
179 


One  Man's  View 

into  clerks,  and  beget  more  clerks,  and 
are  buried,  never  having  known  any 
other.  Beyond  bacon  and  tea,  a  lump 
of  meat,  and  the  boiled  potato,  the 
culinary  imagination  does  not  soar; 
nor  could  the  slatternly  "  servant- 
girls,"  to  which  such  mistresses  are 
slaves,  rise  to  any  farther  height  if 
required.  The  latter  have  attained, 
however — Mecca  of  the  middle- 
classes! —  "a  house  to  themselves"; 
and  the  burden  of  the  dreadful  little 
domiciles  bowing  their  weary  backs, 
they  view  the  comparative  refinement 
of  furnished  apartments  with  contempt; 
forced  to  submit  to  the  vagaries  of  a 
dilatory  drab,  if  they  would  not  be  left 
without  a  servant  at  all,  they  boast  of 
their  own  "independence"! 

To  Rosalie  Road,  Balham,  with  her 
Aunt  Lydia  for  companion,  the  divorcee 
at  the  age  of  twenty-six  retired  to  re- 
member that  she  had  once  hoped  to  be 
180 


One  Man's  View 

an  artist,  and  had  had  the  opportunity 
of  being  a  happy  woman. 

To-day  she  hoped  for  nothing.  There 
was  no  scope  for  hope.  If  she  could 
have  awakened  to  find  herself  famous, 
her  existence  would  have  been  coloured 
a  little  —  though  she  knew  that  fame 
could  never  satisfy  her  now  as  it  would 
once  have  done  —  but  the  ability  to 
labour  for  distinction  was  quite  gone. 
She  was  apathetic;  she  had  no  interest 
in  anything.  When  six  months  had 
passed,  she  regarded  death  as  the  only 
event  to  which  she  could  still  look  for- 
ward; when  she  had  been  here  a  year, 
a  glimmer  of  relief  entered  into  her 
depression  —  the  doctor  who  had  at- 
tended her,  and  sounded  her  lungs,  told 
her  that  she  "  must  take  care  of  her- 
self." 

Sometimes    a    neighbour  looked  in, 

and    spoke    of   the  dilapidations  of   a 

kitchen  range,  and  the  indifference  of 

the  landlord,  the  reductions  at  a  High 

181 


One  Man's  View 

Road  linen  draper's,  and  the  whooping- 
cough.  Sometimes  a  curate  called  to 
sell  tickets  for  a  concert  more  elemen- 
tary than  his  sermons.  In  the  after- 
noon she  walked  to  Tooting  Bee,  and 
stared  at  the  bushes;  in  the  evening  she 
betook  herself  to  the  "  circulating 
library,"  where  the  most  recent  addi- 
tions were  Lady  Audley's  Secret  and 
The  Wide,  Wide  World,  and  the  pro- 
prietor said  he  had  n't  heard  of  Mere- 
dith; "  perhaps  she  had  made  a  mistake 
in  the  name?  "  God  help  her!  She 
was  guilty,  and  she  had  left  a  husband 
desolate;  but  the  music  she  had 
dreamed  of  was  the  opera  on  "  Wagner 
nights,"  when  the  box  would  have  been 
full  of  men  and  women  who  also  wore 
their  bays;  the  books  she  had  expected 
had  been  "  presentation  copies,"  con- 
taining signatures  which  were  the  envy 
of  the  autograph-collector;  the  circle 
that  had  been  her  aim  was  the  world  of 
Literature  and  Art.  She  lived  in  Bal- 
182 


One  Man's  View 

ham;  she  saw  the  curate,  and  she  heard 
about  the  range  in  the  neighbour's 
kitchen.  One  year  merged  into 
another;  and  if  she  lived  for  forty 
more,  the  neighbour  and  the  curate 
would  be  her  AIL 


CHAPTER  XI 

When  five  years  had  passed  after  the 
divorce,  the  Liberal  party  came  into 
power  again,  and  George  Heriot,  Q.C., 
M.P.,  was  appointed  Solicitor-General. 
His  work  and  ambitions  had  not  suf- 
ficed to  mend  the  gap  which  his  wife  had 
left  in  his  life;  but  it  had  been  in  work 
and  ambition  that  he  endeavoured  to 
find  assuagement  of  the  wound.  Per- 
haps eagerness  had  never  been  so  keen 
in  him  after  she  went  as  while  he  was 
contesting  the  borough  that  he  repre- 
sented; perhaps  he  had  never  realized 
the  inadequacy  of  success  as  fully  as  he 
did  to-day,  when  one  of  the  richest 
prizes  of  his  profession  was  obtained. 
Conscious  that  the  anticipated  flavour 
was  lacking,  the  steps  to  which  he 


One  Man's  View 

might  look  forward  still  lost  much  of 
their  allurement.  Were  he  promoted 
to  the  post  of  Attorney-General,  and 
raised  to  the  Bench,  he  could  foresee 
that  the  gratification  would  be  no  more 
keen  than  he  experienced  now,  when 
as  Sir  George  Heriot,  and  a  very 
wealthy  man,  he  recalled  the  period 
in  which,  a  struggling  Junior,  he  had 
sat  up  half  the  night  to  earn  a  guinea. 
The  five  years  had  left  their  mark 
upon  him;  the  hours  of  misery  which 
no  one  suspected  had  left  their  mark 
upon  him.  The  lines  about  the  eyes 
and  mouth  had  deepened;  his  hair  was 
greyer,  his  figure  less  erect.  Men  who, 
in  their  turn,  sat  up  half  the  night  to 
earn  a  guinea  envied  him,  cited  his 
career  as  an  example  of  brilliant  luck 
—  the  success  of  others  is  always 
"luck"  —  and  though  they  assumed 
that  a  fellow  was  "  generally  cut  up  a 
bit  when  his  wife  went  wrong,"  found 
it  difficult  to  conceive  that  Sir  George 
185 


One  Man's  View 

had  permitted  domestic  trouble  to  alloy 
his  triumphs  in  any  marked  degree. 
Nobody  imagined  that  there  were  still 
nights  in  which  he  suffered  scarcely 
less  acutely  than  on  the  one  when  he 
returned  to  discover  that  Mamie  had 
gone  —  that  there  were  evenings  when 
his  loneliness  was  almost  unbearable 
to  the  dry,  self-contained  man  —  that 
moments  came  when  he  took  from  a 
drawer  the  likeness  that  had  stood  on 
his  desk  once,  and  yearned  over  it  with 
despair.  That  was  his  secret;  pride 
forbade  that  he  should  share  it  with 
another.  He  contemned  himself  that 
he  did  suffer  still.  A  worthless  woman 
should  not  be  mourned.  Out  of  his 
life  should  be  out  of  his  memory;  such 
weakness  shamed  him. 

In  August,  a  week  or  so  after  the 
vacation  commenced,  he  went  to  stay 
at  Fairlawn.  His  object  in  going  to 
Fairlawn  was  not  wholly  to  see  his 
brother,  and  still  less  was  it  to  see  his 
186 


One  Man's  View 

sister-in-law.  He  was  solitary,  he  was 
wretched,  and  he  was  only  forty-seven 
years  of  age.  He  had  been  question- 
ing for  some  time  whether  the  wisest 
thing  he  could  do  would  not  be  to 
marry  again;  he  sought  no  resumption 
of  rapture,  but  he  wanted  a  home.  An 
estimable  wife,  perhaps  a  son,  would 
supply  new  interests;  and  the  vague 
question  that  had  entered  his  mind  had 
latterly  been  emphasised  by  his  intro- 
duction to  Miss  Pierways,  who,  he  was 
aware,  was  now  the  guest  of  Lady  Heriot. 
Miss  Pierways  was  the  daughter  of  a 
lady  who  had  been  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Pier- 
ways,  and  who  had  been  left  in  such 
straitened  circumstances  that  she  was 
even  debarred  from  accepting  the  suite 
in  Hampton  Court  that  had  been  of- 
fered to  her  at  the  period  of  her  hus- 
band's death.  The  mother  and  the 
girl  had  retired  to  obscure  lodgings; 
the  only  break  in  the  monotony  of  the 
latter's  existence  being  an  occasional 
187 


One  Man's  View 

visit  to  some  connections  or  friends,  at 
whose  places  it  was  hoped  she  might 
form  a  desirable  alliance.  The  most 
stringent  economies  had  to  be  practiced 
in  order  to  procure  passable  frocks  for 
these  visits,  but  the  opportunities  led 
to  no  result,  though  she  had  beauty. 
And  then  an  extraordinary  event  oc- 
curred. When  the  girl  was  twenty- 
eight,  the  widow,  who  for  once  had 
reluctantly  accepted  an  invitation  to 
accompany  her,  received  an  offer  of 
marriage  herself,  and  became  the  wife 
of  an  American  who  was  known  to  be 
several  times  over  a  millionaire! 

For  one  door  that  had  been  ajar  to 
the  daughter  of  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Pier- 
ways,  with  nothing  but  her  birth  and 
her  appearance  to  recommend  her,  a 
hundred  flew  open  to  the  step-daughter 
of  Henry  Van  Buren;  and  it  was  shortly 
after  the  startling  metamorphosis  in 
the  fortunes  of  the  pair  that  Heriot 
had  first  met  them. 

1 88 


One  Man's  View 

The  possible  dowry  which  Agnes 
Pierways  would  bring  to  her  husband 
weighed  with  him  very  little,  for  he 
was  in  a  position  to  disregard  such 
considerations,  but  Miss  Pierways'  per- 
sonality appeared  to  him  suggestive  of 
all  the  qualifications  that  he  sought  in 
the  lady  he  should  marry.  Without 
her  manner  being  impulsive  or  girlish, 
she  was  sufficiently  young  to  be  at- 
tractive. She  was  handsome,  and  in  a 
slightly  statuesque  fashion  that  bore 
the  promise  of  the  calm  serenity  which 
he  told  himself  was  now  his  aim. 
Certainly  if  he  did  remarry  —  and  he 
was  contemplating  the  step  very  seri- 
ously —  it  would  be  difficult  to  secure 
a  partner  who  fulfilled  his  requirements 
more  admirably  than  Miss  Pierways. 
Whether  he  fulfilled  hers,  he  could 
ascertain  when  he  had  fully  made  up 
his  mind.  It  was  with  the  intention  of 
making  up  his  mind  in  proximity  to 
the  lady  that  he  had  come  to  Fairlawn; 
189 


One  Man's  View 

and  one  evening,  when  he  was  alone  in 
the  smoking-room  with  his  brother,  the 
latter  blundered  curiously  enough  on  to 
the  bull's-eye  of  his  meditations. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Sir  Francis,  "  that 
you  've  never  thought  of  remarrying, 
George?" 

"  My  experience  of  matrimony  was 
not  fortunate,"  answered  Heriot,  smok- 
ing slowly,  but  with  inward  perturbation. 

"  Your  experience  of  matrimony  was 
a  colossal  folly.  All  things  considered, 
the  consequences  might  easily  have 
been  a  good  deal  worse." 

"  I  do  n't  follow  you." 

"  Between  ourselves,  the  end  never 
seemed  to  me  so  regrettable  as  you 
think  it." 

"  My  wife  left  me." 

"  And  you  divorced  her  !  And  you 
have  no  children." 

"  If  I  had  had  children,"  said  Heriot 
musingly,  "  it  is  a  fact  that  the  conse- 
quences would  have  been  worse." 
190 


One  Man's  View 

"  But  in  any  case,"  said  the  baronet, 
"  it  was  a  huge  mistake.  Really  one 
may  be  frank  under  the  circumstances. 
You  married  madly.  The  probability 
is,  that  if  your  wife  had  been  —  if  you 
were  living  together  still,  you  would  be 
a  miserable  man  to-day.  It  was  a  very 
lamentable  affair,  of  course,  when  it 
happened,  but  regarding  it  coolly  —  in 
looking  back  on  it  —  don't  you  fancy 
that  perhaps  things  are  just  as  well  as 
they  are?  " 

"  I  was  very  fond  of  my  wife,"  re- 
plied Heriot,  engrossed  by  his  cigar. 

"  To  an  extent,"  said  Sir  Francis, 
indulgently,  "  no  doubt  you  had  an 
affection  for  her.  But,  my  dear  fellow, 
what  companionship  had  you?  Was 
she  a  companion?  " 

"  I  do  n't  know." 

"  Was  she  interested  in  your  career? 

Could  she    understand   your   ways  of 

thought?    Was  she  used  to  your  world? 

One  does  n't  ask  a  great  deal  of  women, 

191 


One  Man's  View 

but  had  you  any  single  thing  in  com- 
mon?" 

"  I  do  n't  know,"  said  Heriot  again. 

Sir  Francis  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Take  my  word  for  it,  that,  with  such 
a  girl  as  you  married,  your  divorce  was 
not  an  unmixed  evil.  It  was  n't  the  re- 
lease one  would  have  chosen,  but  at 
least  it  was  better  for  you  than  being 
tied  to  her  for  life.  Damn  it!  George, 
what 's  the  use  of  blinking  the  matter 
now?  She  was  absolutely  unsuited  to 
you  in  every  way;  you  must  admit  it!" 

"  I  suppose  she  was.  At  the  same 
time  I  was  happy  with  her." 

"  How  long  would  the  infatuation 
have  lasted?  " 

"  It  lasted  more  than  three  years." 

"  Would  it  have  lasted  another  five?  " 

"  Speaking  honestly,  I  believe  it 
would." 

"  Though  you  had  nothing  in  com- 
mon!" 

"  I  do  n't  explain,"  said  Heriot.  "  I 
192 


One  Man's  View 

tell  you,  I  was  happy  with  her,  that 's 
all!  Viewing  it  dispassionately,  I  sup- 
pose she  was  unsuited  to  me.  I  do  n't 
know  that  we  did  have  anything  in 
common;  I  do  n't  see  any  justification 
for  the  fool's  paradise  I  lived  in.  But 
for  all  that,  if  I  married  again,  I  should 
never  care  for  the  woman  as — as  I 
cared  for  her.  In  fact,  I  should  merely 
marry  to  —  "  — :  he  was  about  to  say 
"to  try  to  forget  her"  —  "to  make  a 
home  for  myself,"  he  said,  instead. 

"  Have  you  considered  such  a  step?" 
asked  Sir  Francis. 

"  Sometimes,  yes." 

"The  best  thing  you  could  do  —  a 
very  proper  thing  for  you  to  do.  .  .  . 
Anybody  in  particular?" 

"  It's  rather  premature — " 

"  You  're  not  in  chambers,  old  fel- 
low." 

"What  do  you  think  of  Miss  Pier- 
ways?  "  inquired  Heriot  after  a  scarcely 
perceptible  pause. 


One  Man's  View 

"A  very  excellent  choice!  I  should 
congratulate  you  heartily.  I  had  not 
noticed —  And  Catherine  is  very  acute 
in  these  matters — " 

"There  has  been  nothing  to  notice; 
probably  she  would  refuse  me  point- 
blank.  But  in  the  event  of  my  deter- 
mining to  marry  again,  I  have  wondered 
whether  Miss  Pierways  would  not  be 
the  lady  I  proposed  to." 

"  I  do  n't  think  you  could  do  better." 

"  Really?  You  do  n't  think  I  'm  too 
old  for  her?  " 

"On  my  honour —  'Too  old  for 
her! '  Not  a  bit,  a  very  sensible  mar- 
riage. I  'm  not  surprised  that  you 
should  be  attracted  by  her." 

"'Attracted  by  her,'"  said  Heriot, 
"suggests  rather  more  than  the  actual 
facts.  I  appreciate  her  qualities,  but  I 
can't  say  I  'm  sensible  of  any  attach- 
ment. I  'm  sorry  that  I  'm  not.  I  ap- 
preciate her  so  fully  that  I  am  anxious 
to  be  drawn  towards  her  a  little  more. 
194 


One  Man's  View 

I  'm  somewhat  past  the  age  for  ardent 
devotion,  but  I  could  n't  take  a  wife  as 
I  might  buy  a  horse.  Of  course,  I  've 
not  been  very  much  in  her  society — 
er — downhere,  I  daresay;  when  I  come 
to  know  her  better —  Have  you  met 
Van  Buren?" 

"In  town,  before  he  sailed.  He  is 
in  New  York,  you  know.  I  like  them 
all.  We  were  very  pleased  to  have  the 
mother  and  the  girl  to  stay  with  us.  ... 
Well,  make  your  hay  while  the  sun 
shines." 

"  It  is  n't  shining,"  said  Heriot,  "I  'm 
just  looking  east,  waiting  for  it  to  rise. 
But  I  'm  glad  to  have  talked  to  you; 
as  soon  as  the  first  gleam  comes  I  think 
I  '11  take  your  advice.  I  ought  to  marry, 
Francis;  I  know  you  're  right." 


CHAPTER   XII 

The  more  he  reflected,  the  more  he 
was  convinced  of  it.  In  marriage  lay 
his  chance  of  contentment,  and  during 
the  ensuing  fortnight  his  approval  of 
Miss  Pierways  deepened.  The  house 
would  not  fill  until  the  following  month, 
and  the  smallness  of  the  party  there  at 
present  was  favourable  to  the  develop- 
ment of  acquaintance. 

Excepting  that  she  was  a  trifle  cold, 
there  was  really  no  scope  for  adverse 
criticism  upon  Miss  Pierways.  She  was 
unusually  well  read,  took  an  intelligent 
interest  in  matters  on  which  women  of 
her  age  were  rarely  informed,  and  was 
accomplished  to  the  extent  that  she 
played  the  piano  after  dinner  with 
brilliant  execution  and  admirable  hands 
196 


One  Man's  View 

and  wrists.  Her  coldness,  theoretically, 
was  no  drawback  to  him,  and  Heriot 
was  a  little  puzzled  by  his  own  attitude. 
Her  air  was  neither  so  formal  as  to 
intimate  that  his  advances  would  be 
unwelcome,  nor  so  self-conscious  as  to 
repel  him  by  the  warmth  of  its  encour- 
agement; yet,  in  spite  of  his  admira- 
tion, the  idea  of  proposing  to  her  dis- 
mayed him  when  he  forced  himself  to 
approach  the  brink. 

His  vacillation  was  especially  irri- 
tating, since  he  had  learned  that  the 
ladies  were  on  the  point  of  joining  Mr. 
Van  Buren  in  New  York.  The  oppor- 
tunity of  which  he  was  failing  to  take 
advantage  would  speedily  be  past,  and 
he  dreaded  that  if  he  suffered  it  to 
escape  him,  he  would  recall  the  cir- 
cumstances with  a  certain  regret.  He 
perceived  as  well,  however,  that  if  he 
were  precipitate,  he  might  regret  that 
too,  and  he  was  sorry  that  the  pair 
were  not  remaining  in  Europe  longer. 
197 


One  Man's  View 

One  evening,  shortly  before  their 
departure,  which  was  being  discussed, 
the  mother  expressed  surprise  that  he 
should  never  have  been  curious  to  visit 
a  continent  to  which  she  had  never 
given  a  thought  herself  until  she  mar- 
ried an  American,  and  in  answer  Heriot 
declared  that  he  had  frequently  medi- 
tated taking  a  run  across  during  the 
long  vacation. 

"  If  you  ever  do,"  she  said,  "I  hope 
you  will  choose  a  year  when  we  are 
there." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  was  think- 
ing of  it  during  the  present  one." 

"We  may  see  you  in  New  York, 
Sir  George?"  said  Miss  Pierways. 
"  Really?  How  strange  that  will  seem! 
I  Ve  been  anxious  to  go  to  New  York 
all  my  life;  but  now  that  I  'm  going,  I 
feel  a  contradictory  desire  to  stay  at 
home.  The  idea  of  a  large  city  across 
a  lot  of  water,  where  I  have  n't  any 
friends  —  " 

198 


One  Man's  View 

"  But  you  will  have  many  friends, 
Agnes." 

"  By-and-by,"  answered  Miss  Pier- 
ways.  "  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  But  it 's 
very  fatiguing  making  friends,  do  n't 
you  think  so?  And  I  tremble  when  I 
contemplate  the  voyage." 

"  How  delightful  it  would  be,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Van  Buren,  "if  we  were 
going  by  the  same  steamer,  Sir 
George!" 

Heriot  laughed. 

"  It  would  be  very  delightful  to  me 
to  make  the  voyage  in  your  company. 
But  I  might  bore  you  frightfully.  A 
week  at  sea  must  be  a  severe  test.  I 
should  be  afraid  of  being  found  out." 

"  We  are  promised  other  passengers," 
observed  Miss  Pierways,  looking  down 
with  a  faint  smile.  Her  archness  was 
a  shade  stiff,  but  her  neck  was  one  of 
her  chief  attractions. 

"Why  do  n't  you  go,  George?"  said 
Lady  Heriot  cheerfully.  "You  'd 
199 


One  Man's  View 

much  better  go  by  Mrs.  Van  Buren's 
boat  than  any  other;  and  you  've  been 
talking  of  making  a  trip  to  America 
'  next  year '  ever  since  I  've  known 
you!" 

This  amiable  fiction  was  succeeded 
by  fresh  protestations  on  Mrs.  Van 
Buren's  part  that  no  arrangement  could 
be  more  charming,  and  Heriot,  half 
against  his  will,  half  with  pleasure, 
found  himself  agreeing  to  telegraph  in 
the  morning  to  inquire  if  he  could 
obtain  a  berth. 

He  hardly  knew  whether  he  was 
sorry  or  glad  when  he  had  done  so. 
That  the  step  would  result  in  an  en- 
gagement might  be  predicted  with  a 
tolerable  degree  of  certainty,  and  he 
would  have  preferred  to  arrive  at  an 
understanding  with  himself  under  con- 
ditions which  savoured  less  of  coercion. 

Since  a  stateroom  proved  to  be  va- 
cant, however,  he  could  do  no  less 
than  engage  it  now;  and  everybody 
200 


One  Man's  View 

appeared  so  pleased,  and  Miss  Pierways 
was  so  gracious,  that  the  anomalous 
misgivings  which  disturbed  him  looked 
momentarily  more  unreasonable  than 
ever. 

The  night  before  he  sailed,  in  their 
customary  colloquy  over  whisky  and 
cigars,  Sir  Francis  said  to  him: 

"  '  Ask,  and  it  shall  be  given  unto 
you! ' 

"  I  'm  inclined  to  think  you  're  right," 
said  his  brother.  "I  suppose  it  will 
end  in  it!  .  .  .  She  's  a  trifle  like  a 
well-bred  machine  —  does  n't  it  strike 
you  so? — warranted  never  to  get  out 
of  order!  "  The  other's  look  was  sig- 
nificant, and  Heriot  added,  "  Very  de- 
sirable in  a  wife,  of  course!  Only 
somehow —  " 

"  '  Only  somehow  '  you  're  eccentric, 
George  —  you  always  were!" 

"  It 's  not  my  reputation,"  said 
Heriot  dryly;  "  I  believe  that  I  'm 
esteemed  particularly  practical." 


One  Man's  View 

"  Reputations,"  retorted  the  baronet, 
attempting  an  epigram,  as  he  some- 
times did  in  the  course  of  the  second 
whisky-and-potash,  and  failing  signally 
in  the  endeavour,  "  are  like  tombstones 

—  generally   false!"     He  realized  the 
reality  of  tombstones,  and  became  im- 
mediately  controversial,   to   mask  the 
defeat.     "  /  've  known  you  from  a  boy, 
and  I  say  you  were  always  eccentric. 
It  was  nothing  but  your  eccentricity 
that  you  had  to  thank  before!     Here  's 
a  nice  girl,  a  girl  who  will  certainly 
have  a  good  settlement,  a  girl  who  's 
undeniably    handsome,    ready   to    say 
'yes*  at  the  asking,  and  you  grumble 

—  I  'm  hanged  if  you  do  n't  grumble! 
—  because  you  see  she   is  to  be  de- 
pended on.     What  the   devil   do  you 
want?  " 

"  I  want  to  be  fond  of  her,"  answered 
Heriot.  "  I  admit  all  you  've  said  of 
her;  I  want  to  like  her  more." 

"So  you  ought  to;  but  what  does  it 
202 


One  Man's  View 

matter  if  you  do  n't?  All  women  are 
alike  to  the  men  who  've  married  them 
after  a  year  or  two.  She  '11  make  an 
admirable  mother,  and  that 's  the  main 
thing,  I  suppose!  " 

Was  it? 

Heriot  recalled  the  criticism  during 
his  first  day  on  board.  Neither  of  the 
ladies  was  visible  until  Queenstown  was 
reached,  and-  he  paced  the  deck  pur- 
suing his  reflections  by  the  aid  of  to- 
bacco. She  would  "  make  an  admira- 
ble mother,  and  that  was  the  main 
thing"?  Of  the  second  half  of  the 
opinion  he  was  not  so  sure.  To  marry 
a  woman  simply  because  one  believed 
she  would  shine  in  a  maternal  capacity 
was  somewhat  too  altruistic,  he  thought. 
However,  he  was  fully  aware  that  Miss 
Pierways  had  other  recommendations. 

She  appeared  with  her  mother  at  the 

head  of  the  companion-way  while  he 

was  wishing  that  he  had  not  come,  and 

he   found   their   chairs    for  them,   and 

203 


One  Man's  View 

arranged  their  rugs,  and  subsequently 
gave  their  letters  to  the  steward  to  be 
posted. 

After  leaving  Queenstown  Mrs.  Van 
Buren's  sufferings  increased,  and  the 
girl,  who,  saving  for  a  brief  interval, 
was  well  and  cheerful,  was  practically 
in  his  charge.  It  was  Heriot  who 
accompanied  her  from  the  saloon  after 
breakfast,  and  strolled  up  and  down 
with  her  till  she  was  tired.  When  the 
chair  and  the  rug — the  salient  features 
of  a  voyage  are  the  chair,  the  rug,  and 
the  woman — were  satisfactorily  ar- 
ranged, it  was  he  who  sat  beside  her, 
talking.  Flying  visits  she  made  below, 
while  her  mother  kept  her  cabin;  but 
she  was  on  deck  for  the  most  part — or 
in  the  saloon,  or  in  the  reading-room  — 
and  for  the  most  part  Heriot  was  the 
person  to  whom  she  looked  for  con- 
versation. If  he  had  been  a  decade  or 
two  younger,  he  would  probably  have 
proposed  to  her  long  before  they 
204 


One  Man's  View 

sighted  Sandy  Hook,  and  it  surprised 
him  that  he  did  not  succumb  to  the  sit- 
uation as  it  was.  A  woman  is  nowhere 
so  dangerous,  and  nowhere  is  a  man  so 
susceptible,  as  at  sea.  The  intermi- 
nable days  demand  flirtation,  if  one  is 
not  to  perish  of  boredom;  and  the  en- 
vironment is  conducive  to  the  devel- 
opment of  flirtation  into  the  semblance 
of  love.  Moonlight  and  water  are  no- 
toriously potent,  even  when  only  viewed 
for  half  an  hour;  and  at  sea,  the  man 
and  the  girl  look  at  the  moonlight  on 
the  water  together  regularly  every 
evening.  And  it  is  very  becoming  to 
the  girl.  Miss  Pierways'  face  was 
always  a  disappointment  to  Heriot  at 
breakfast.  The  remembrance  of  its 
factitious  softness  the  previous  night 
made  its  hardness  in  the  sunshine  look 
harder.  He  wondered  if  it  was  the 
remembrance  of  its  hardness  at  break- 
fast that  kept  him  from  proposing  to 
her  when  they  loitered  in  the  moon- 
205 


One  Man's  View 

light.  He  was  certainly  doing  his  best 
to  fall  in  love  with  her,  and  everything 
conspired  to  assist  him;  but  the  days 
went  on,  and  the  momentous  question 
remained  unuttered. 

"We  shall  soon  be  there,"  she  said 
one  evening  as  they  strolled  about  the 
deck  after  dinner.  "  I  'm  beginning  to 
be  eager.  Have  you  noticed  how 
everybody  who  passes  is  saying,  '  New 
York'  now?  At  first  no  one  alluded 
to  our  arrival — we  might  n't  have  been 
due  for  a  year,  by  the  way  the  subject 
was  ignored  —  and  since  yesterday  no- 
body is  talking  of  anything  else!  " 

"  Nearly  every  one  I  've  spoken  to 
seems  to  have  made  the  trip  half  a 
dozen  times,"  said  Heriot.  "  I  feel 
dreadfully  untravelled  in  the  smoking- 
room.  When  are  you  going  to  Niagara, 
Miss  Pierways?  That 's  a  solemn  duty 
to  a  foreigner,  you  know." 

"  But  it  is  n't  to  a  native!  I  was 
talking  to  some  girls  who  have  lived 
206 


One  Man's  View 

in  New  York  all  their  lives — when 
they  were  n't  in  Europe  —  and  have  n't 
been  there  yet!  They  told  me  they 
had  been  to  the  panorama  in  West- 
minster." 

"  '  The  average  thinking  man  can't 
stand  Europe  for  more  than  six 
months,'  "  Heriot  remarked.  "  I  heard 
that  this  morning!  I  fancy  Americans 
are  the  most  patriotic  people  in  the 
world;  they  are  even  angry  with  them- 
selves for  liking  any  country  but  their 
own!  " 

"  Well,  it  is  a  very  wonderful  one." 

"  I  wish  I  had  time  to  see  more  of 
it.  I  should  like  to  go  west;  I  should 
like  to  see  California." 

"  I  would  n't  see  California  for  any 
consideration  upon  earth!"  Miss  Pier- 
ways  declared.  "  California,  to  me,  is 
Bret  Harte  —  I  should  be  so  afraid  of 
being  disillusioned.  When  we  went  to 
Ireland  once,  do  you  know,  Sir  George, 
it  was  a  most  painful  shock  to  me!  My 
207 


One  Man's  View 

ideas  of  Ireland  were  based  on  Dion 
Boucicault's  plays;  I  expected  to  see 
all  the  peasants  in  spotless  and  fasci- 
nating costumes,  just  as  one  sees  them 
on  the  stage.  The  reality  was  terrible. 
I  shudder  when  I  recall  the  disappoint- 
ment I  suffered." 

"  I  can  appreciate  it." 

"  Of  course  you  're  laughing  at  me!  " 

"  No;  sympathising  deeply,  I  assure 
you." 

"  I  shall  have  my  revenge,  if  you 
don't  like  New  York,"  she  said.  "  But, 
I  do  n't  know!  I  shall  feel  guilty. 
You  must  n't  blame  us  if  you  do  n't  like 
New  York,  Sir  George.  Fortunately 
you  won't  have  time  to  be  very  bored 
though;  will  you?" 

"'Fortunately'?." 

"  Fortunately  if  it  does  n't  amuse 
you,  I  mean.  When  does  the  —  how 
do  you  say  it?  When  does  your  holi- 
day end?" 

"  I  must  be  back  in  London  on  the 
208 


One  Man's  View 

twenty-fourth  of  next  month.  I  am 
almost  American  myself,  am  I  not? 
I  shall  have  such  a  fleeting  glimpse  of 
the  country,  that  I  must  really  think  of 
writing  a  book  about  it." 

"You  have  something  better  to  do 
than  writing  vapid  books!  To  me  your 
profession  seems  the  most  interesting 
one  there  is.  If  I  were  a  man,  I  would 
rather  be  called  to  the  Bar  than  any- 
thing. You  would  be  astonished  if  you 
knew  how  many  biographies  of  eminent 
lawyers  I  have  read  —  they  enthralled 
me  as  a  child.  I  do  n't  know  any  ca- 
reer that  conveys  such  a  sense  of  power 
to  me  as  the  Bar.  Do  n't  smile;  but 
sometimes  when  we  are  talking  I  look 
at  you,  remembering  the  vital  issues 
that  have  been  in  your  hands,  and 
tremble." 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  him,  deprecat- 
ing the  enthusiasm  which  was  too  pal- 
pably a  pose,  and  again  Heriot  was 
conscious  that  the  opportunity  was 
209 


One  Man's  View 

with  him,  if  he  could  but  grasp  it. 
They  had  paused  by  the  taffrail,  and 
he  stood  looking  at  her,  trying  to 
speak  the  words  which  would  translate 
their  relations  to  a  definite  footing.  He 
no  longer  had  any  doubt  as  to  her 
answer;  he  could  foresee  her  reply  — 
at  least  the  manner  of  her  reply  —  with 
disturbing  clearness.  He  knew  that 
she  would  hesitate  an  instant,  and  droop 
her  head,  and  ultimately  murmur  cor- 
rect phrases  which  would  exhilarate 
him  not  at  all.  In  imagination  he 
already  heard  her  tones,  as  she  prom- 
ised to  be  his  wife.  He  supposed,  as 
they  were  screened  from  observation, 
that  he  might  take  her  hand.  How 
passionless,  how  mechanical  and  flat  it 
would  all  be!  He  replied  with  a  com- 
monplace, and  after  a  few  moments 
they  continued  their  promenade.  When 
he  turned  in,  however,  he  reproached 
himself  more  forcibly  than  he  had  done 
yet,  and  his  vacillation  was  by  no  means 

210 


One  Man's  View 

at  an  end.  He  was  not  at  war  with  his 
judgment,  but  with  his  instinct,  and  it 
was  the  perception  of  this  fact  which 
always  increased  his  perturbation. 

They  landed  the  following  day,  and, 
after  being  introduced  to  Mr.  Van  Buren 
in  the  custom-house,  Heriot  drove  to  an 
hotel.  The  hotel  was  excellent,  but 
the  city  did  not  appear  to  him  the  bril- 
liant capital  that  he  had  understood  it 
to  be.  He  had  vaguely  pictured  New 
York  as  a  Paris  where  everybody  talked 
English;  and  the  arid,  ill-paved  streets, 
the  ceaseless  jangle  of  the  tram-cars, 
and  the  ubiquitous  rush  and  scream  of 
the  elevated  railway  at  once  irritated 
and  oppressed  him.  He  did  not  wish  to 
take  the  Van  Burens'  invitations  too  lit- 
erally, and  to  a  man  or  woman  who  has 
few  acquaintances  there,  New  York  is 
a  duller  capital  than  most.  While  ren- 
dering homage  to  the  cuisine  of  the 
country,  which,  as  a  whole,  is  infinitely 
better  than  the  cooking  of  France,  and 

211 


One  Man's  View 

as  superior  to  that  of  England  as  the 
worst  American  train  is  to  our  best,  the 
place,  as  a  place,  disappointed  him 
woefully.  Broadway,  narrow  and  abom- 
inable, till  it  widened  into  the  momen- 
tary brightness  of  Union  Square,  proved 
a  shock  in  its  painful  dissimilarity  to 
the  Boulevard  des  Italiens,  with  which 
the  few  American  novels  into  which  he 
had  dipped  had  led  him  to  associate  it; 
and  Fifth  Avenue,  when  he  called  on 
the  Van  Burens,  had  so  little  external 
resemblance  to  the  description  of  a 
"street  of  palaces,"  that  in  the  middle 
of  the  thoroughfare  he  begged  a  pedes- 
trian to  tell  him  where  it  was. 

American  hospitality,  however,  is  the 
most  charming  in  the  world,  and  he 
spent  several  very  agreeable  hours  in- 
side the  big  brownstone  house.  Noth- 
ing could  have  exceeded  the  geniality 
of  Mr.  Van  Buren's  manner,  nor  was 
this  due  solely  to  the  position  of  his 
visitor  and  a  hope  of  their  becoming 

212 


One  Man's  View 

connected.  The  average  American 
business  man  will  show  more  kindness 
to  a  complete  stranger  who  intrudes 
into  his  office  than  most  Englishmen 
display  to  one  who  comes  to  them  with 
the  warmest  letter  of  introduction  from 
a  bosom  friend,  and  Van  Buren's  wel- 
come was  as  sincere  as  it  was  attract- 
ive. 

Heriot  stayed  in  New  York  a  week, 
and  then  fulfilled  his  desire  of  visiting 
Niagara.  On  his  return  he  called  at 
Fifth  Avenue  again.  He  was  already 
beginning  to  refer  to  his  homeward 
voyage,  and  he  was  still  undetermined 
whether  he  should  propose  to  Miss  Pier- 
ways  or  not.  The  days  slipped  by  with- 
out his  arriving  at  a  conclusion;  and 
then  one  morning  he  told  himself  he 
had  gone  too  far  to  retreat  now,  and 
that  the  step,  which  was  doubtless  the 
most  judicious  he  could  take,  should 
be  made  without  delay. 

He  called  at  the  house  the  same  after- 
213 


One  Man's  View 

noon  —  for  the  next  day  but  one  the 
Etruria  sailed  —  and  he  found  the  ladies 
at  home.  He  sat  down,  wondering  if 
he  would  be  left  alone  with  Miss  Pier- 
ways,  and  take  his  departure  engaged 
to  her;  but  for  half  an  hour  there 
seemed  no  likelihood  of  a  tete-a-tete. 
Presently  some  cards  were  brought  in, 
and  the  visitors  were  shown  into  an- 
other room.  Mrs.  Van  Buren  begged 
him  to  excuse  her.  He  rose  to  leave, 
but  was  pressed  to  remain. 

"  I  want  to  talk  to  you  when  they  're 
gone,"  she  said;  "  I  have  n't  half  ex- 
hausted my  list  of  messages  for  you  to 
take  to  London." 

Heriot  resumed  his  seat,  and  Miss 
Pierways  smiled. 

"  Poor  mamma  wishes  she  were  go- 
ing herself,  if  the  truth  were  told! 
Now  that  we  're  here,  it  is  I  who  like 
New  York  the  better." 

"  We  soon  become  creatures  of  cus- 
tom," he  said;  "your  mother  has  lived 
214 


One  Man's  View 

in  London  too  long  to  accustom  her- 
self to  America  very  easily.  Of  course 
you  '11  be  returning  next  season?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  Shall  you  ever  come  to 
America  again,  Sir  George?" 

"I  —  I  hardly  know,"  he  answered. 
"  I  certainly  hope  to." 

"  Oh,  then,  you  will!  You  are  your 
own  master." 

"  Is  anybody  ever  his  own  master?  " 

"  To  the  extent  of  travelling  to  Amer- 
ica, many  people,  I  should  think!" 

He  remembered  with  sudden  gratifi- 
cation that  he  had  never  said  a  word  to 
her  that  he  might  not  have  spoken  be- 
fore a  crowd  of  listeners.  What  was 
there  to  prevent  him  withholding  the 
proposal  if  he  liked! 

"  I  've  no  doubt  I  shall  come,"  he 
said  abstractedly. 

She  looked  slightly  downcast.  This 
was  not  the  reply  that  she  hoped  to 
hear. 

"  I  shall  always  owe  a  debt  of  grati- 
215 


One  Man's  View 

tude  to  you  and  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Van  Buren  for  making  my  visit  so 
pleasant  to  me,"  he  found  himself  say- 
ing next.  "  My  trip  has  been  a  de- 
lightful experience." 

She  murmured  a  conventional  re- 
sponse, but  chagrin  began  to  creep 
about  her  heart. 

Heriot  diverged  into  allusions  which 
advanced  the  position  not  at  all.  They 
spoke  of  New  York,  of  England,  of  the 
voyage  —  she  perfunctorily,  and  he  with 
ever-increasing  relief.  And  now  he  felt 
that  he  had  been  on  the  verge  of  the 
precipice  for  the  last  time.  He  had 
escaped,  and  by  the  intensity  of  his 
gratitude  for  the  escape  he  realized 
how  ill-judged  had  been  his  action  in 
playing  around  it. 

When  Mrs.  Van  Buren  reappeared, 
followed  by  her  husband,  her  daugh- 
ter's face  told  her  that  the  crisis  had 
not  been  reached,  and,  bold  in  thanks- 
giving, Heriot  excused  himself  when 
216 


One  Man's  View 

he  was  asked  to  dine  with  them  that 
evening.  Had  the  invitation  been  trans- 
ferred to  the  next  night,  he  could  not 
without  rudeness  have  refused  it,  but 
on  the  next  night,  as  luck  would  have 
it,  the  Van  Burens  were  dining  out 
themselves. 

When  the  big  door  shut  behind  him 
he  descended  the  steps  with  a  sensation 
that  was  foreign  to  him,  and  not  wholly 
agreeable.  He  knew  he  did  not  want 
to  marry  Miss  Pierways,  and  that  he 
had  behaved  like  a  fool  in  trying  to 
acquire  the  desire,  but  he  was  a  little 
ashamed  of  himself.  His  conduct  had 
not  been  irreproachable;  and  he  was 
conscious  that  when  the  steamer  sailed, 
and  the  chapter  was  closed  for  good 
and  all,  he  would  be  glad  to  have  done 
with  it.  He  had  blundered  badly. 
Nevertheless  he  would  have  blundered 
worse,  and  been  a  still  greater  fool,  if 
the  affair  had  terminated  in  an  engage- 
ment. Of  course  his  brother  would 
217 


One  Man's  View 

say  distasteful  things  when  they  met, 
and  Lady  Heriot  would  convey  her  ex- 
treme disapproval  of  him  without  say- 
ing anything.  That  he  must  put  up 
with.  Of  two  evils,  he  had  at  any  rate 
chosen  the  lesser! 

He  repeated  the  assurance  with  still 
more  conviction  on  Saturday  morning 
during  the  quarter  of  an  hour  in  which 
the  cab  rattled  him  over  the  villainous 
roads  to  the  boat.  The  experience  had 
been  a  lesson  to  him,  and  henceforward 
he  was  resolved  he  would  dismiss  the 
idea  of  marriage  from  his  mind.  He 
saw  his  portmanteau  deposited  in  his 
cabin,  and  returned  to  the  deck  as  the 
steamer  commenced  to  move.  The 
decks  were  in  the  confusion  that  always 
reigns  during  the  first  hour  on  board. 
Passengers  still  hung  at  the  taffrail, 
taking  a  farewell  gaze  at  friends  upon 
the  landing-stage.  The  chairs  were 
huddled  in  a  heap,  and  stewards  bus- 
tled about  among  the  piles  of  luggage, 
218 


One  Man's  View 

importuned  at  every  second  step  with 
instructions  and  inquiries. 

The  deep  pulsations  appeared  to 
grow  more  regular,  the  long  line  of 
sheds,  that  had  been  left,  receded,  and 
the  figures  of  the  friends  were  as  little, 
dark  boys,  waving  specks  of  white. 
Even  the  most  constant  among  the  de- 
parting began  to  turn  away  now.  The 
hastening  stewards  were  importuned 
more  frequently  than  before.  Every- 
body was  in  a  hurry,  and  all  the  women 
in  the  crowd  that  flocked  below  seemed 
uttering  the  words  "baggage"  and 
"  stateroom"  at  the  same  time. 

A  few  men  were  temporarily  in  pos- 
session of  the  deck,  striding  to  and  fro 
behind  pipes  or  cigars.  The  regulation 
as  to  "  No  smoking  abaft  this  "  was  not 
yet  in  force,  or,  at  least,  was  at  present 
disobeyed.  Heriot  sauntered  along  the 
length  of  promenade  until  it  began  to 
fill  again.  The  mountain  of  chairs  re- 
ceived attention  —  they  were  set  out  in 
219 


One  Man's  View 

a  row  under  the  awning.  The  deck 
took  a  dryness  and  a  whiteness,  and  a 
few  people  sat  down,  and  questioned  in- 
wardly if  they  would  find  one  another 
companionable.  He  bent  his  steps  to 
the  smoking-room,  but  it  was  empty 
and  uninviting  thus  early,  and  he  for- 
sook it  after  a  few  minutes.  As  the 
door  slammed  behind  him,  he  came 
face  to  face  with  the  woman  who  had 
been  his  wife! 


CHAPTER  XIII 

She  approached  —  their  gaze  met  — 
he  had  bowed,  and  passed  her.  Per- 
haps it  had  lasted  a  second,  the  mental 
convulsion  in  which  he  looked  in  her 
eyes;  he  did  not  know.  He  found  a 
seat  and  sank  into  it,  staring  at  the  sky 
and  sea,  actually  conscious  of  nothing 
but  her  nearness.  He  could  not  tell 
whether  it  was  despair  or  rejoicing  that 
beat  in  him;  he  knew  nothing  but  that 
the  world  had  swayed,  that  life  was  in 
an  instant  palpitating  and  vivid  —  that 
he  had  seen  her! 

Then  he  knew  that  in  the  intensity 
of  emotion  that  shook  him,  body  and 
brain,  there  was  a  thrill  of  joy,  inex- 
plicable but  insistent.  But  when  he 
rose  at  last,  he  dreaded  that  he  might 
see  her  again. 


One  Man's  View 

He  did  not  see  her  till  evening,  when 
he  drew  back  at  the  door  of  the  saloon 
as  she  came  out.  His  features  were 
imperturbable  now,  and  betrayed  noth- 
ing, though  her  own,  before  her  head 
drooped,  were  piteous  in  appeal. 

Heriot  noted  that  she  looked  pale 
and  ill,  and  that  she  wore  a  black  dress 
with  crape  on  it.  He  wondered  whether 
she  had  lost  her  father  or  her  aunt. 
Next  morning  he  understood  that  it 
must  be  her  father,  for  he  saw  her  sit- 
ting inertly  beside  Mrs.  Baines  against 
the  bulwark.  So  Dick  Cheriton  was 
dead!  He  had  once  been  fond  of  Dick 
Cheriton.  The  stranger  in  the  black 
frock  had  once  slept  in  his  arms,  and 
bore  his  name!  .  .  .  The  sadness  of  a 
lifetime  weighed  on  his  soul.  He  per- 
ceived that  she  shunned  him  by  every 
means  in  her  power.  But  they  were 
bound  to  meet;  and  then  the  same  look 
would  flash  across  her  face  that  he  had 
seen  at  the  foot  of  the  companion-way; 

222 


One  Man's  View 

its  supplication  and  abasement  wrung 
him.  They  were  bound  to  meet. 
Horrible  as  the  continual  encounters 
grew,  in  the  reading-room,  on  deck,  or 
below,  their  lines  crossed  a  dozen  times 
between  breakfast  and  eleven  o'clock 
at  night.  The  unavoidableness  of  these 
meetings  became  as  torturous  to  Heriot 
as  to  her.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  struck 
her  as  he  saw  her  whiten  and  shrink 
when  he  passed  her  by.  He  hated 
himself  soon  for  being  here  to  cause 
her  this  intolerable  pain. 

It  was  on  the  evening  of  the  third 
day  th^t  her  endurance  broke  down, 
and  she  made  her  petition.  He  recog- 
nised the  voice  of  her  messenger  with 
a  pang  before  he  turned. 

"  Mrs.  Baines  !  " 

"  You  're  surprised  I  should  address 

you,  Mr.  Heriot,"  she  said.   "I  should  n't 

have,  but  she  wants  me  to  beg  you  to 

—  to  speak  to  her,  if  it 's  only  for  five 

minutes.     She  implores  you  humbly  to 

223 


One  Man's  View 

let  her  speak  to  you  !  She  made  me 
ask  you;  I  could  n't  say  '  no.' ' 

His  pulses  throbbed  madly,  and 
momentarily  he  could  not  reply. 

"What  purpose  would  it  serve?"  he 
said  in  tones  he  struggled  to  make 
firm. 

"She  can't  bear  it,  Mr.  Heriot  — 
Sir  Heriot,  I  should  say.  I  was  for- 
getting, I  'm  sure  I  beg  your  pardon! 
She  '  implores  you  humbly  to  let  her 
speak  to  you';  I  was  to  use  those 
words.  Won't  you  consent?  She  is 
ill,  she  's  dying." 

"  Dying?  "  whispered  Heriot  by  a 
physical  effort. 

She  nodded  slowly.  "  The  doctor 
has  told  her!  She  won't  be  here  long, 
poor  girl!  But  whether  she  's  to  be 
pitied  for  it  or  not,  it 's  hard  to  say;  I 
do  n't  think  she  '11  be  sorry  to  go.  .  .  . 
My  brother  is  gone,  Sir  Heriot." 

His  answer  was  inarticulate. 

"We  got  there  just  at  the  end.  If 
224 


One  Man's  View 

we  had  been  too  late,  she  —  She  has 
been  ailing  a  long  while,  but  we  did  n't 
know  it  was  so  serious.  When  she  saw 
you,  it  was  awful  for  her.  I —  Oh, 
what  am  I  to  tell  her? — she  's  waiting 
now!  " 

"Where?"  said  Heriot,  hoarsely. 

"  Will  you  come  with  me?  " 

"  Show  me,"  he  said, — "  show  me 
where  she  is." 

He  still  heard  the  knell  of  it  — 
"  Dying!  "  It  tolled  in  his  being.  He 
heard  it  as  the  lonely  figure  in  the 
darkness  rose. 

"Thank  you;  I  am  grateful." 

The  familiar  voice  knocked  at  his 
heart. 

"  Mrs.  Baines  has  told  me  you  are 
ill.  I  am  grieved  to  learn  how  ill  you 
are!  " 

"  It  does  n't  matter.     It  was  good  of 
you  to  come;  I  thought  you  would.     I 
- 1    have    prayed    to    speak    to    you 
again!  ' 

225 


One  Man's  View 

"  It  was  not  much  to  ask,"  he  said; 
"  I  — am  human." 

He  could  see  she  trembled  painfully. 
He  indicated  the  chair  she  had  left,  and 
drew  one  chair  closer  for  himself.  Then 
for  some  minutes  there  was  silence. 

"  Do  you  hate  me?"  she  said. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  Should  I  have 
come  to  tell  you  so?" 

"But  you  can  never  forgive?" 

"Why  distress  yourself?  If  for  a 
moment  I  hesitated  to  come,  it  was 
because  I  knew  it  would  be  distressing 
for  you.  Perhaps  a  refusal  would  have 
been  kinder  after  all." 

"No,  no;  I  was  sure  you  wouldn't 
refuse.  She  doubted;  but  I  was  sure! 
I  said  you  would  come  when  you  heard 
about  me." 

"  Is  it  so  serious?  What  is  it?  Tell 
me;  I  know  nothing." 

"It's  my  lungs;  they  were  never 
very  strong,  you  remember.  The 
doctor  told  me  in  Duluth:  'Perhaps  a 
226 


One  Man's  View 

year,'  if  I  am  '  very  careful.'  I  am  not 
very  careful  —  it  will  soon  be  all  over. 
Don't  look  like  that.  Why  should 
you  care?  /  do  n't  care  — I  do  n't  want 
to  live  a  bit.  Only —  Do  you  think,  if — 
if  there  's  anything  afterwards,  that  a 
woman  who  's  gone  wrong  like  me  will 
be  punished?" 

"  For  God's  sake,"  he  said,  "  do  n't 
talk  so!  " 

"  But  do  you?  It  makes  one  think 
of  these  things  when  one  knows  one 
has  only  a  very  little  time  to  live.  You 
can't  forgive  me  —  you  said  so." 

"  I  do,"  he  said;  "  I  forgive  you 
freely.  If  I  could  give  my  life  to  undo 
your  wretchedness,  I  'd  give  it  you. 
You  do  n't  know  how  I  loved  you; 
what  it  meant  to  me  to  find  you 
gone!  Ah,  Mamie,  how  could  you  do 
it?" 

The  tears  stood  in  her  eyes,  as  she 
lifted  her  white  face  to  him  in  the  ob- 
scurity. 

227 


One  Man's  View 

"I  am  ashamed,  ashamed!"  she 
moaned.  "What  can  I  say?" 

"Why?  "  said  Heriot,  at  the  end  of 
a  tense  pause;  "  why?  Did  you  care 
for  him  so  much?  If  he  had  lived,  and 
married  you,  would  you  be  happy 
now?" 

"  Happy!  "  she  echoed,  with  some- 
thing between  a  laugh  and  a  sob. 

"Tell  me!  I  hoped  you  would  be 
happy.  That 's  true!  I  never  wanted 
you  to  suffer  for  what  you  'd  done.  / 
suffered  enough  for  both." 

"  I  do  n't  think  I  should  have  mar- 
ried him.  I  do  n't  know.  I  do  n't 
think  so.  I  knew  I  'd  made  a  mistake 
before — oh,  in  the  first  month.  If  you 
have  n't  hated  me,  I  have  hated  myself." 

"And  since?  You  have  been  with 
ktrf" 

"  Ever  since.    My  poor  father  wanted 

me  to  go  home.     I  wish  I  had!     You 

know    I  've    lost    him — she    told   you 

that?     He  wanted  me  to  go  home,  but 

228 


One  Man's  View 

I  could  n't — where  everybody  knew! 
You  understand?  And  then  she  moved 
to  Balham,  and  we  never  left  it  until 
two  months  ago,  when  the  cable  came. 
We  were  in  time  to  see  him  die.  My 
poor  father!  " 

He  touched  her  hand,  and  her  fingers 
closed  round  his  own  convulsively. 

"You  oughtn't  to  be  up  here  at 
night,"  he  said  huskily,  looking  at  her 
with  blinded  eyes.  "Did  n't  the  man 
tell  you  that  the  night  air  was  bad? 
And  that  flimsy  wrap  —  it 's  no  use  so. 
Draw  it  across  your  mouth." 

"What's  the  difference? — there, 
then!  Shall  you — will  you  speak  to 
me  again  after  this  evening?  or  is  this 
the  last  talk  we  shall  have?  I  had  so 
much  to  say  to  you,  but  I  do  n't  seem 
able  to  find  it  now  you  're  here.  If 
you  believe  that  I  ask  your  pardon  on 
my  knees,  I  suppose,  after  all,  that  that 
is  everything!  If  ever  a  man  deserved 
a  good  wife,  it  was  you;  I  realize  it 
229 


One  Man's  View 

more  clearly  than  I  did  while  we  were 
together  —  though  I  think  I  knew  it 
then.  .  .  .  You  never  married  again?" 

"No,"  he  answered;  "no,  I  haven't 
married." 

"But  you  will,  perhaps?  Why 
have  n't  you?  " 

"  I  'm  too  old,  and — I  cared  too 
much  for  you" 

The  tears  were  running  down  her 
face  now;  she  loosed  his  hand  to  wipe 
them  away. 

"  Do  n't  say  I  've  ruined  your  life!  " 
she  pleaded;  "  do  n't  say  that!  My 
own  —  yes;  my  own  —  it  served  me 
right!  but  I  've  tried  so  hard  to  believe 
that  you  had  got  over  it.  When  I  read 
of  your  election,  and  then  that  you 
were  made  Solicitor-General,  I  was 
glad,  ever  so  glad!  I  thought,  '  He  is 
successful;  he  has  his  career — his 
career.'  I  've  always  wanted  to  believe 
that  your  work  was  enough  —  that  you 
had  forgotten!  It  was  n't  so?  " 
230 


One  Man's  View 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  it  was  n't  so.  I 
did  my  best  to  forget  you,  but  I 
couldn't." 

"  Aunt  Lydia  said  you  were  n't  cut 
up  at  all  when  she  saw  you.  You  de- 
ceived her  Very  well.  '  A  worthless 
woman/  you  called  me;  I  'was  not  any 
loss'!  It  was  quite  true,  but  I  knew 
you  could  n't  feel  like  that — not  so 
soon.  'Worthless'!  I 've  heard  it  every 
day  since  she  told  me!  ...  I  meant 
to  do  my  duty  when  I  married  you, 
George;  if  I  could  have  foreseen — " 
She  broke  off,  coughing.  "  If  I  could 
have  foreseen  what  the  end  would  be, 
I  'd  have  killed  myself  rather  than 
become  your  wife.  I  was  always  grate- 
ful to  you;  you  were  always  good 
to  me — and  I  brought  you  only 
shame!  " 

"Not  'only,'"  he  said;  "you  gave 

me  happiness  first,  Mamie — the  greatest 

happiness  I  've  known!     I  loved  you, 

and  you  came  to  me.    You  never  under- 

231 


One  Man's  View 

stood  how  much  I  did  love  you  —  I 
think  that  was  the  trouble." 

"  '  There  's  a  word  that  says  it  all:  I 
worship  you! '  Do  you  remember  say- 
ing that?  You  said  it  in  the  train 
when  you  first  proposed  to  me.  I  re- 
fused you  then — why  did  I  ever  give 
way!  .  .  .  How  different  everything 
would  be  now!  You  '  worshipped  '  me, 
and  I  —  " 

Her  voice  trailed  off,  and  once  more 
only  the  pounding  of  the  engine  broke 
the  stillness  on  the  deck.  The  ocean 
swelled  darkly  under  a  starless  sky,  and 
Heriot  sat  beside  her  staring  into  space. 
In  the  steerage  some  one  commenced 
to  play  "  Robin  Adair  "  on  a  fiddle. 
A  drizzle  began  to  fall,  to  blow  in  upon 
them.  Heriot  became  conscious  of  it 
with  a  start. 

"You  must  go  below,"  he  said;  "it 
is  raining." 

She  rose  obediently,  shivering  a  little, 


232 


One  Man's  View 

and  drawing  the  white  shawl  more 
closely  about  her  neck. 

"Good-night!"  she  said,  standing 
there  with  wide  eyes. 

He  put  out  his  hand,  and  her  clasp 
ran  through  his  blood  again. 

"Good-night!"  he  repeated  gently. 
"Sleep  well." 

Was  it  real?  Was  he  awake?  He 
looked  after  her  as  she  turned  away  — 
looked  long  after  she  had  disappeared. 
The  riddle  in  the  steerage  was  still 
scraping  "Robin  Adair";  the  black 
stretch  of  deck  was  desolate.  A  vio- 
lent impulse  seized  him  to  overtake 
her,  to  snatch  her  back,  to  hold  her  in 
his  arms,  for  once,  with  words  and 
caresses  of  consolation.  "Dying!" 
He  wondered  if  Davos,  Algiers,  the 
Cape,  anything  and  everything  pro- 
curable by  money,  could  prolong  her 
life.  Then  he  recollected  that  she  had 
said  she  did  not  wish  to  live.  But  that 


233 


One  Man's  View 

was  horrible!  She  should  consult  an 
eminent  man  in  town,  and  follow  his 
advice;  he  would  make  her  promise  it. 
With  the  gradual  defervescence  of  his 
mood,  he  wondered  if  she  was  properly 
provided  for,  and  resolved  to  question 
Mrs.  Baines  on  the  point.  He  would 
elicit  the  information  he  sought  the 
following  day,  and  something  could  be 
arranged  if  necessary — if  not  with 
Mamie's  knowledge,  then  without  it. 

The  morning  was  bright,  and  Mamie 
was  in  her  chair  when  he  came  up  from 
the  saloon  after  breakfast.  As  he  ap- 
proached, she  watched  him  expectantly, 
and  it  was  impossible  to  pass  without  a 
greeting.  It  was  impossible,  when  the 
greeting  had  been  exchanged,  not  to 
remain  with  her  for  a  few  minutes. 

"How  are  you  feeling?"  he  asked; 
"  any  better?  " 

"I  never  feel  very  bad;  I  am  just 
the  same  to-day  as  yesterday,  thank 
you."  The  "  thank  you  "  was  some- 
234 


One  Man's  View 

thing  more  than  a  formula,  and  he  felt 
it.  It  hurt  him  to  hear  the  gratitude  in 
her  tone,  natural  as  it  might  be. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  to  a  good  physi- 
cian when  you  arrive,"  he  said;  "say 
to  Drummond;  and  to  do  just  as  he 
tells  you.  You  must  do  that;  it  is  a 
duty  you  owe  yourself." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  What 
for?  That  I  may  last  two  years,  per- 
haps, instead  of  one?  It  is  kind  of  you 
to  care,  but  I  'm  quite  satisfied  as  things 
are.  Do  n't  bother  about  me." 

"You  will  have  to  go!  "  he  insisted. 
"  Before  we  land  I  shall  speak  to  your 
aunt  about  it." 

He  had  paused  by  her  seat  with  the 
intention  of  resuming  his  promenade 
as  soon  as  civility  permitted,  but  her 
presence  was  subversive  of  the  inten- 
tion. He  sat  down  beside  her  as  he 
had  done  the  previous  evening;  but  it 
was  inevitable  that  they  should  now 
speak  of  other  subjects  than  infidelity 
235 


One  Man's  View 

and  death.  The  sky  was  blue,  and  the 
white  deck  glistened  in  the  sunshine. 
The  sea  before  them  tumbled  cheer- 
fully, and  to  right  and  left  were  groups 
of  passengers  laughing,  flirting,  doing 
fancy-work,  or  reading  novels. 

"  You  have  n't  told  me  how  it  was 
you  came  to  the  States?"  she  said 
presently;  "were  you  in  New  York  all 
the  time?  " 

Heriot  did  not  answer,  and  she 
waited  with  surprise. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  if  you  wish,"  he  said 
hastily.  "  I  came  out  half  meaning  to 
marry." 

"  Oh ! "  she  said,  as  if  he  had  struck  her. 

"I  thought  I  might  be  happier  mar- 
ried," he  went  on.  "  The  lady  and  her 
mother  were  going  to  New  York,  and 
I  travelled  with  them.  I  —  I  was  mis- 
taken in  myself." 

They  were  not  looking  at  each  other 
any  longer,  and  her  voice  trembled  a 
little  as  she  replied: 
236 


One  Man's  View 

"  You  were  not  fond  enough  of  her?  " 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  never 
marry  again;  I  told  you  so  last  night." 

After  a  long  pause,  she  said: 

"Was  she  pretty?  .  .  .  Prettier  than 
/used  to  be?" 

"  She  was  handsome,  I  think.  Not 
like  you  at  all.  Why  talk  about  it! 
...  I  am  glad  I  came,  though,  or  I 
should  n't  have  seen  you.  I  shall  al- 
ways be  glad  to  have  seen  you  again! 
Remember  that,  after  »ve  part.  For 
me,  at  least,  it  will  never  be  so  bitter 
since  we  've  met  and  I  've  heard  you 
say  you  're  sorry." 

"God  bless  you!"  she  murmured 
almost  inaudibly. 

He  left  her  after  half  an  hour,  but 
drifted  towards  her  again  in  the  after- 
noon. Insensibly  they  lost  by  degrees 
much  of  their  constraint  in  talking  to- 
gether. She  told  him  of  her  father's 
illness,  of  her  own  life  in  Balham; 
Heriot  gave  her  some  details  of  his 
237 


One  Man's  View 

appointment,  explaining  that  it  was  the 
duty  of  an  Attorney  and  Solicitor-Gen- 
eral to  reply  to  questions  of  law  in  the 
House,  to  advise  the  government,  and 
conduct  its  cases,  and  the  rest  of  it. 
By  Wednesday  night  it  was  difficult  to 
him  to  realize  that  their  first  interview 
had  occurred  only  forty-eight  hours 
ago.  It  had  become  his  habit  to  turn 
his  steps  towards  her  on  deck,  to  sip 
tea  by  her  side  in  the  saloon,  to  saunter 
with  her  after  dinner  in  the  starlight. 
Even  at  last  he  felt  no  embarrassment 
as  he  moved  towards  her;  even  at  last 
she  came  to  smile  up  at  him  as  he 
drew  near.  Moments  there  could  not 
fail  to  be  when  such  a  state  of  things 
seemed  marvellous  and  unnatural  — 
when  conversation  ceased,  and  they 
paused  oppressed  and  tongue-tied  by  a 
consciousness  of  the  anomaly  of  their 
relations.  Nevertheless  such  moments 
were  but  hitches  in  an  intercourse  which 


238 


One  Man's  View 

grew  daily  more  indispensable  to  them 
both. 

How  indispensable  it  had  become  to 
herself  the  woman  perceived  as  the 
end  of  the  voyage  approached,  and 
now  she  would  have  asked  no  better 
than  for  them  to  sail  on  until  she  died. 
When  she  undressed  at  night,  she 
sighed,  "Another  day  over";  when 
she  woke  in  the  morning,  it  was  with 
eagerness  and  anticipation.  On  Satur- 
day they  would  arrive;  and  when 
Friday  dawned,  the  abnormity  of  the 
reunion  had  less  of  strangeness  than 
the  reflection  that  she  and  Heriot 
would  separate  again  directly.  To 
think  that,  as  a  matter  of  course,  they 
would  say  good-bye  to  each  other,  and 
resume  their  opposite  sides  of  an  im- 
passable gulf,  looked  more  unnatural  to 
her  than  the  renewed  familiarity. 

Their  pauses  were  longer  than  usual 
on  Friday  evening.  Both  were  remem- 


239 


One  Man's  View 

bering  that  it  was  the  last.  Heriot 
had  ascertained  that  Cheriton  had  been 
able  to  leave  her  but  little;  and  the 
notion  of  providing  her  with  the  means 
to  winter  in  some  favourable  climate 
was  hot  in  his  mind. 

"  It  is  understood,"  he  said  abruptly, 
"  that  you  go  to  Drummond,  and  do 
exactly  as  he  orders?  You  will  not  be 
so  mad  as  to  refuse  at  the  last  mo- 
ment? " 

"  All  right!  "  she  answered  apatheti- 
cally; "I  will  go.  Shall  I  —  will  you 
care  to  hear  what  he  says?" 

"  Your  aunt  has  promised  to  write  to 
me.  By  the  way,  there  's  something  I 
want  to  say  to-night !  If  what  he  ad- 
vises is  expensive,  you  must  let  me 
make  it  possible  for  you.  I  claim  that 
as  my  right.  I  intended  arranging  it 
with  Mrs.  Baines,  but  she  tells  me  you 
—  you  would  be  bound  to  know  where 
the  money  came  from.  He  will  prob- 
ably tell  you  to  live  abroad." 
240 


One  Man's  View 

"Thank  you!  "  she  said  after  a  slight 
start.  "  I  could  not  take  your  money. 
It  is  very  good  of  you,  but  I  would 
rather  you  did  n't  speak  of  it.  If  you 
talked  forever,  I  would  not  consent!  " 

"  Mamie  —  " 

"  The  very  offer  turns  me  cold. 
Please  don't!" 

"You  are  cruel,"  he  said.  "  You  are 
refusing  to  let  me  prolong  your  life. 
Have  I  deserved  that  from  you?  " 

"  Oh! "  she  cried,  in  a  tortured  voice, 
"for  God's  sake,  don't  press  me! 
Leave  me  something — I  won't  say 
'  self-respect,'  but  a  vestige,  a  grain  of 
proper  pride!  Think  what  my  feelings 
would  be,  living  on  money  from  you — 
it  would  not  prolong  my  life,  George;  it 
would  kill,  me  sooner!  You  have  been 
generous  and  merciful  to  me;  be  merci- 
ful to  me  still, and  talk  of  something  else. " 

"  You  are  asking  me  to  stand  by  and 
see   you    die.     /    have    feelings    too! 
Mamie,  I  can't  do  it!  " 
241 


One  Man's  View 

"  I  am  dying,"  she  said;  "  if  it  hap- 
pens a  little  sooner  or  a  little  later, 
does  it  matter  very  greatly?  If  you 
want  to  be  very  kind  to  me,  to  —  to 
brighten  the  time  that  remains  as  much 
as  you  can,  tell  me  that  if  I  send  to  you 
when — when  it's  a  question  of  days, 
you  will  come  to  the  place  and  see  me 
again.  I  would  bless  you  for  that! 
I  've  been  afraid  to  ask  you  till  now; 
but  it  would  mean  more  to  me  than 
anything  else  you  could  do.  Would 
you,  if  I  sent?" 

"  Why,"  said  Heriot  labouredly,  after 
another  pause,  "  why  would  it  mean  so 
much?" 

They  were  leaning  over  the  taffrail; 
and  suddenly  her  head  was  bent,  and 
she  broke  into  convulsive  sobs  that  tore 
his  breast. 

"  Mamie!  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Mamie, 
tell  me,  dear!  "  He  glanced  around, 
and  laid  a  trembling  touch  upon  her 


242 


One  Man's  View 

hands.  "  Tell  me!  "  he  repeated 
hoarsely.  "  Do  you  love  me  then?  " 

Her  figure  was  shaken  by  the  shud- 
dering breaths.  His  touch  upon  her 
tightened  to  a  clasp;  he  drew  the  hands 
down  from  the  distorted  face,  drew  the 
shaken  figure  closer,  till  his  own  met  it 
—  till  her  bosom  was  heaving  against 
his  heart. 

"  Do  you  love  me,  Mamie?  " 

"Yes!  "  she  gasped.  And  then  for 
an  instant  only  their  eyes  spoke,  and  in 
the  intensity  of  their  eyes  each  gave  to 
the  other  body  and  soul. 

"  I  love  you!  "  she  panted;  "  it 's  my 
punishment,  I  suppose,  to  love  you  too 
late!  I  shall  never  see  you  after  to- 
morrow, till  I  am  dying  —  if  then  — 
but  I  love  you.  Remember  it!  It 's 
no  good  to  you,  you  won't  care,  but  re- 
member it,  because  it 's  my  punishment. 
You  can  say,  '  When  it  was  too  late,  she 
knew !  She  died  detesting  herself, 


One  Man's  View 

shrinking  at  her  own  body,  her  own 
loathsome  body  that  she  gave  to  an- 
other man!'  Oh!"  —  she  beat  her 
hands  hysterically  against  his  chest  — 
"  I  hate  him,  I  hate  him!  God  forgive 
me,  he  's  in  his  grave,  but  I  hate  him 
when  I  think  what 's  been!  And  it 
wasn't  his  fault;  it  was  mine,  mine  — 
my  own  degraded,  beastly  self!  Curse 
me,  throw  me  from  you!  I  'm  not  fit 
to  be  standing  here;  I  'm  lower  than  the 
lowest  woman  in  the  streets!  " 

The  violence  of  her  emotion  mad- 
dened him.  He  knew  that  he,  too, 
loved  her;  the  truth  was  stripped  of  the 
disguise  in  which  he  had  sought  for 
years  to  wrap  it  —  he  knew  that  he  had 
never  ceased  to  love  her;  and  a  temp- 
tation to  make  her  his  wife  again,  to 
cherish  and  possess  her  so  long  as  life 
should  linger  in  her  veins,  flooded  his 
reason.  Their  gaze  grew  wider,  deeper 
still;  he  could  feel  her  quivering  from 
head  to  foot.  Another  moment,  and 
244 


One  Man's  View 

he  would  have  offered  his  honour  to 
her  keeping  afresh.  Some  men  left  the 
smoking-room;  there  was  the  sharp  in- 
terruption of  laughter  —  the  slam  of 
the  door.  They  both  regained  some 
semblance  of  self-possession  as  they 
moved  apart. 

"  I  must  go  down!  "  she  said.  And 
he  did  not  beg  her  to  remain. 

It  was  their  real  farewell,  for  on  the 
morrow  they  could  merely  exchange  a 
few  words  amid  the  bustle  of  arrival. 
Liverpool  was  reached  early  in  the 
morning,  and  when  Heriot  saw  her,  she 
wore  a  hat  and  veil,  and  was  already 
prepared  to  go  ashore.  In  the  glare  of 
the  sunshine  the  veil  could  not  conceal 
that  her  eyes  were  red  with  weeping, 
however,  and  he  divined  that  she  had 
passed  a  sleepless  night.  To  Mrs. 
Baines  he  privately  repeated  his  in- 
junctions with  regard  to  the  physician, 
for  he  was  determined  that  the  scruples 
should  be  overcome;  and  the  widow 
245 


One  Man's  View 

assured  him  that  she  would  write  to 
Morson  Drummond  for  an  appointment 
without  loss  of  time.  The  delays  and 
shouts  came  to  an  end,  and  the  gang- 
way was  lowered  while  he  was  speaking 
to  her,  and  Mamie  moved  forward  to 
her  side.  He  saw  the  pair  again  in  the 
custom-house,  but  for  a  minute  only, 
and  from  a  distance.  They  evidently 
got  through  without  trouble,  for  when 
he  looked  across  again,  they  were  gone. 
A  sensation  of  blankness  fell  upon 
Heriot's  mood  as  he  perceived  it,  where 
he  stood  awaiting  amid  the  scattered 
luggage.  His  life  felt  newly  empty, 
and  the  day  all  at  once  seemed  cold  and 
dark. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

The  truth  was  stripped  of  the  dis- 
guise in  which  he  had  sought  to  wrap 
it;  he  knew  that  he  had  never  ceased 
to  love  her.  As  he  had  known  it  while 
she  sobbed  beside  him  on  the  boat,  so 
he  knew  it  when  the  Bar  claimed  him 
again,  and  he  wrestled  with  temptation 
amid  his  work.  He  might  remarry 
her!  He  could  not  drive  this  irruptive 
idea  from  his  mind.  It  lurked  there, 
impelled  attention,  dozed,  woke,  and 
throbbed  in  his  consciousness  persist- 
ently. Were  he  but  weak  enough  to 
make  the  choice,  the  woman  he  loved 
might  belong  to  him  once  more. 

Were  he  but  weak  enough!  There 
were  minutes  in  which  he  was  very 
near  to  it,  minutes  in  which  the  dis- 
247 


One  Man's  View 

honour,  if  dishonour  it  were,  looked  as 
nothing  to  him  compared  with  the  joy 
of  having  her  for  his  wife  again.  Yet 
were  he  but  "weak"  enough?  Would 
it  indeed  be  weakness?  would  it  not 
rather  be  strength,  the  courage  of  his 
convictions?  The  noetic  longing  il- 
lumined his  vision,  and  he  asked  him- 
self on  what  his  doubt  and  hesitation 
were  based.  She  had  sinned;  but  he 
had  pardoned  her  sin,  not  merely  in 
words,  but  in  his  heart.  And  she  was 
very  dear  to  him;  and  she  had  repented. 
Then  why  should  it  be  impossible? 
What,  after  all,  had  they  done  to  her? 
what  change  in  the  beloved  iden- 
tity had  they  wrought,  those  months 
that  were  past  ?  He  was  aware 
that  it  was  the  physical  side  that  re- 
pelled him.  Did  this  especial  sin  make 
of  a  woman  somebody  else?  Did  it 
give  to  her  another  face,  another  form, 
another  brain?  Did  unfaithfulness  trans- 
form her  personality?  The  only  differ- 
248 


One  Man's  View 

ence  was  the  knowledge  of  what  had 
happened — the  woman  herself  was  the 
same!  But  he  would  not  vindicate  his 
right  to  love  her  —  he  loved  her,  that 
was  enough.  In  its  simplicity  the  ques- 
tion was,  whether  he  would  do  better  to 
condone  her  guilt  and  know  happiness, 
or  to  preserve  his  dignity  and  suffer. 
He  could  not  blink  the  question;  it 
confronted  him  nakedly  when  a  week 
had  worn  by.  Without  her  he  was 
lonely  and  wretched;  with  her,  while 
she  lived,  he  was  confident  that  his  joy 
would  be  supreme.  The  step  that  he 
considered  was,  if  any  one  pleased,  re- 
volting; but  if  it  led  to  his  content- 
ment, perhaps  to  be  "  revolting  "  might 
be  height  of  wisdom.  He  must  sacrifice 
his  pride  or  his  peace;  and  at  last  quite 
deliberately,  without  misgiving  or  a 
backward  glance,  Heriot  determined  to 
gain  peace. 

A  few  days  after  the  arrival,  Mrs. 
Baines  had  written  to  inform  him  that 
249 


One  Man's  View 

the  physician  was  out  of  town,  but  now 
a  line  came  to  say  that  an  appointment 
had  been  made  for  "  Monday,"  and 
that  she  would  communicate  Dr.  Drum- 
mond's  pronouncement  immediately 
they  reached  home  after  the  interview. 
It  was  on  Monday  morning  that  Heriot 
received  the  note,  and  he  resolved  to 
go  to  Mamie  the  same  evening. 

The  thought  of  the  amazement  that 
his  appearance  would  produce  in  her 
excited  him  wildly  as  he  drove  to  Vic- 
toria. He  could  foresee  the  wonder  in 
her  eyes  as  he  entered,  the  incredulity 
on  her  features  as  she  heard  what  he 
was  there  to  say;  and  the  profoundest 
satisfaction  pervaded  him  that  he  had 
resolved  to  say  it.  The  comments  that 
his  world  would  make  had  no  longer 
any  place  in  his  meditations;  a  fico  for 
the  world  that  would  debar  him  from 
delight,  and  censure  what  it  could  not 
understand!  He  had  suffered  long 
enough;  his  only  regret  was  for  the 
250 


One  Man's  View 

years  which  had  been  lost  before  he 
grasped  the  vivid  truth  that,  innocent 
or  guilty,  the  woman  who  conferred 
happiness  was  the  woman  to  be  desired. 
A  criticism  of  his  brother's  recurred 
to  him:  "  You  had  n't  a  single  taste  in 
common!  "  He  had  not  disputed  it  at 
the  time;  he  was  not  certain  that  he 
could  deny  it  now.  But  there  was  no 
need  to  consider  whether  their  views 
were  kindred  or  opposed,  whether  she 
was  defiled  or  stainless,  when  she  was 
the  woman  whose  magic  could  transfig- 
ure his  existence.  He  was  conscious 
that  this  marriage,  to  be  approved  by 
his  judgment  and  condemned  by  Soci- 
ety, would  be  a  sweeter  and  holier 
union  than  their  first,  to  which  she  had 
brought  purity  and  indifference.  As 
the  cab  sped  down  Victoria  Street,  his 
excitement  increased,  and  in  imagina- 
tion he  already  clasped  her,  and  felt 
the  warmth  of  her  cheek  against  his 
face.  He  felt  the  softness  of  her  hair 
251 


One  Man's  View 

between  his  fingers,  and  stinging  his  lips 
as  he  smoothed  and  kissed  it  as  he  had 
done  five  years  ago. 

The  hansom  slackened,  jerked  to  a 
standstill,  and  he  leapt  out,  and  hurried 
to  the  booking-office.  A  train  was  on 
the  point  of  starting.  The  sentiment 
of  the  byegone  was  quick  in  him  as  he 
found  that  he  must  pass  through  a 
yellow  barrier  on  to  the  same  platform 
to  which  he  had  been  wont  to  hasten 
in  the  period  when  he  used  to  go  to 
see  her  in  Lavender  Street,  Wands- 
worth.  He  had  never  trodden  it  since. 
A  thousand  associations,  sad  but  de- 
licious, were  revived  as  he  took  his 
seat,  and  the  guard,  whose  countenance 
struck  him  as  familiar,  sauntered  with 
a  green  flag  and  a  lantern  past  the 
window.  Victoria  slipped  back.  It 
had  been  in  one  of  these  compartments 
— perhaps  in  this  one! — that  he  had 
first  asked  her  to  be  his  wife.  How 
damp  she  had  been!  he  remembered 
252 


One  Man's  View 

that  her  cape  was  quite  wet  when  he 
touched  it.  A  porter  sang  out,  "  Gros- 
venor  Road,"  and  at  the  sound  of  it 
Heriot  marvelled  he  should  have  for- 
gotten that  they  were  about  to  stop 
there.  Yes,  "  Grosvenor  Road,"  and 
then — what  next?  He  could  not  recol- 
lect; but  memory  knocked  with  a 
louder  pang  as  each  of  the  impossible 
places  on  the  line  was  reached.  When 
the  name  of  Wandsworth  Common  was 
cried,  he  glanced  out  at  the  dimly 
lighted  station,  while  in  fancy  he  traced 
the  course  to  the  shabby  villa  that  had 
been  her  home.  He  thought  he  could 
find  it  blindfolded. 

After  Wandsworth. the  line  was  quite 
strange  to  him;  and  now  the  impa- 
tience of  his  mood  had  no  admixture, 
and  he  nearly  trembled  with  eagerness 
to  gain  his  destination. 

"  Balham!"  was  bawled  at  last,  and 
among  a  stream  of  clerks  and  nonde- 
scripts he  descended  a  flight  of  steps 
253 


One  Man's  View 

and  emerged  into  a  narrow  street.  No 
cabs  were  in  attendance,  and,  having 
obtained  directions,  he  pursued  his  way 
to  Rosalie  Road  on  foot. 

A  glimpse  he  had  of  cheap  com- 
merce, of  the  flare  of  gas-jets  on 
oranges,  and  eggs,  and  fifth-rate  mil- 
linery; and  then  the  shops  and  the 
masses  were  left  behind,  and  he  was  in 
obscurity.  The  ring  of  footsteps  occur- 
red but  seldom  here,  and  he  wandered 
vainly  in  a  maze  of  little  houses  for 
half  an  hour  before  a  welcome  postman 
earned  a  shilling. 

Rosalie  Road  began  in  darkness  and 
ended  in  a  brickfield.  Heriot  identified 
No.  44  by  the  aid  of  a  vesta.  A  hollow 
jangle  succeeded  his  pull  at  the  bell, 
and  presently,  through  the  panes  in 
the  door,  he  could  discern  a  figure  ad- 
vancing along  the  passage. 

His  throat  appeared  to  contract,  and 
his  voice  sounded  strange  in  his  ears, 
as  he  inquired  if  Mamie  was  within. 
254 


One  Man's  View 

"  Yessir;  she  's  in  the  drorin'-room," 
replied  the  drudge.  "  Oo  shall  I 
say?  " 

"  Sir  George  Heriot.  Is  Mrs.  Baines 
at  home?  " 

His  title  rendered  her  incapable  of 
immediate  response. 

"Missis  is  out  of  a  herrandt,  sir," 
she  stammered,  recovering  herself; 
"  she  won't  be  long." 

"  When  she  comes  in,  tell  her  that 
I  'm  talking  privately  to  her  niece. 
Privately;  do  n't  forget!" 

She  turned  the  handle,  and  Heriot 
followed  her  into  the  room.  He  heard 
her  announce  him,  but  vaguely.  He 
saw  the  room  as  in  a  mist.  Momen- 
tarily all  that  was  clear  was  Mamie's 
face,  white  and  wonder-stricken  in  the 
lamplight.  She  stood  where  she  had 
been  standing  at  his  entrance,  looking 
at  him;  he  had  the  impression  of  many 
minutes  passing  while  she  only  looked. 
A  long  time  seemed  to  go  by  before 
355 


One  Man's  View 

the  colour  fluttered  back,  and  she  said, 
"You?" 

"  Yes,  it 's  I,"  he  said.  "  Won't  you 
say  you  're  glad  to  see  me?  " 

"  Aunt  Lydia  has  written  to  you," 
she  murmured,  still  gazing  at  him  as  if 
she  doubted  his  reality.  "  Her  letter 
has  gone." 

"  I  have  come  to  hear  what  Dr. 
Drummond  says.'' 

She  motioned  him  to  a  chair,  and 
drooped  weakly  on  to  the  shiny  couch 
herself. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  die,"  she  said, 
moistening  her  lips.  "  Your  sympathy 
has  been  thrown  away.  I  am  a  fraud!" 

In  the  tenseness  of  the  pause  in  which 
he  waited,  the  tumultuous  throbbing  of 
his  heart  seemed  to  shake  it  in  his 
breast. 

"He  has  given  you  hope?"  he 
asked,  articulating  at  last. 

"  He  said,  '  Bosh! '  I  told  him  what 
the  doctor  declared  in  Duluth.  He 
256 


One  Man's  View 

said,  'Bosh!'     One   lung  isn't  sound, 
that 's  all.     I   may  live  to  be  eighty." 

"  O  dear  God!"  said  Heriot  slowly, 
"  how  I  thank  you!" 

She  gave  a  short  laugh,  harsh  and 
bitter. 

"  I  always  posed.  My  last  pose  was 
as  a  dying  woman!  " 

"  Mamie,"  he  said  firmly  —  he  went 
across  to  her  and  sat  down  by  her  side 
—  "  Mamie,  I  love  you!  I  want  you 
to  come  back  to  me,  dearest!  My 
life  's  no  good  without  you,  and  I  want 
you  for  my  wife  again.  Will  you 
come?" 

He  heard  her  catch  her  breath,  but 
she  could  not  speak.  He  took  her 
hands,  and  drew  her  to  him.  She  fell 
with  a  gasp  upon  his  neck,  and  their 
lips  clung  together,  and  presently  he 
felt  hot  tears  on  his  cheek. 

Then  she  released  herself  with  a 
gesture  of  negation. 

"  You  are  mad!  "  she  said.     "  And  / 
257 


One  Man's  View 

should  be  madder  to  accept  the  sacri- 
fice!" 

For  this  he  was  prepared. 

"  I  am  very  sane,"  he  answered. 
"When  you  understand,  you  will  see 
that  it  is  the  only  reparation  you  can 
make  me.  Listen!" 

THE    END. 


358 


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